


Twelve Days of Queliot

by charlotteschaos, prettyclever



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bisexuality, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Domestic Fluff, Eliot Waugh's Canonically Huge Dick, Eliot is a dipshit, F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gift Giving, Holidays, Home for Christmas, Inspired by Hallmark Christmas Movies, M/M, Makeover, Marriage Proposal, Mutual Pining, Pocket Dimensions - Freeform, Poppy is the worst, Protective Siblings, Romance, Sharing a Bed, Soft Boys, The Twelve Days of Christmas, Winter wedding, bisexual disaster Quentin Coldwater, elaborate magical gifts, idiots to lovers, mhhe, my christmas love, queliot, sassy bisexuals, wickoff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:06:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 102,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21622690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlotteschaos/pseuds/charlotteschaos, https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyclever/pseuds/prettyclever
Summary: Comic book author Quentin and his best friend, artist Eliot, have an urgent deadline approaching after Christmas, so when Quentin's boyfriend dumps him right before his sister Julia's winter wedding to longtime girlfriend Kady, Quentin takes Eliot as his plus one. Two weeks in Q's small, idyllic hometown together with Kady, Julia, and Q and Julia's dad Henry Fogg. It'll be a working vacation, right? They'll get those pages finished in no time.However, shortly after they arrive, extravagant magical portrayals of the 12 Days of Christmas begin arriving daily, addressed to "My One True Love" but lacking any hint of the sender. To uncover the identity of his true love, Quentin embarks on a quest with Eliot's reluctant, amused assistance. Determined but befuddled, Quentin revisits several old flames in hopes of solving the mystery, but is it possible his true love has been right in front of his face the whole time?This novel-length Queliot Christmas romance features mutual pining, friends-to-lovers, dramatic magical Christmas presents, holiday baking, and domestic fluff, plus many sassy bisexuals.AKA the "My Christmas Love" Hallmark Christmas AU.
Relationships: Kady Orloff-Diaz/Julia Wicker, Margo Hanson & Eliot Waugh, Quentin Coldwater & Julia Wicker, Quentin Coldwater/Alice Quinn (referenced), Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh, Quentin Coldwater/Poppy, William "Penny" Adiyodi/Kady Orloff-Diaz (referenced), William "Penny" Adiyodi/Quentin Coldwater
Comments: 83
Kudos: 114
Collections: Magicians Hallmark Holiday Extravaganza





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Art for Twelve Days of Queliot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21688408) by [anthemofourlives](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anthemofourlives/pseuds/anthemofourlives). 



> This novel is based on the Hallmark holiday movie "My Christmas Love," which provided much of the plot for this story. We have taken excessive liberties with that very innocent, sweet, hopelessly hetero work. Please enjoy responsibly. (And leave us comments! We've been dying to share this for months.)
> 
> Special thanks to Nicole for her extremely helpful beta work, Nog for her gorgeously quirky art, and Riz for the idea behind MHHE.

Quentin took a deep breath before pulling open the door to Charming’s, the quaint little restaurant owned by his friend Josh, an excellent chef, specializing in desserts that he couldn’t resist. The door jingled, owing to the Christmas season.

The wreath on the door was fragrant with evergreen and put Quentin instantly in the Christmas mood even though it was two weeks away and that wasn’t exactly the religion Josh was raised with. Magicians dealt with faith in their own way; Josh’s faith seemed to be in herbalism and putting together flavors that short-circuited mere mortal brains.

He greeted Quentin with a quick hug at the door, seeming to sense his presence, or maybe it was the reservation Quentin had made to meet Penny, an old school chum that he’d been seeing for five months.

Quentin beamed at Josh. “Happy holidays!”

“Man, it’s been so good. I’ve got some amazing cupcakes for you tonight. Took your idea of pistachio and added a little mint because I know that’s your thing…”

Quentin squeezed Josh tight and then stepped back. “That’s amazing. You’re the best. A little herb in there?”

Josh laughed and pushed up his glasses. “Of course. I know how you are. Little Indica to keep you from getting too…”

“Too me, right?" Quentin grinned at Josh as he showed him to the romantic spot in the corner of his restaurant. Not everyone got the chef’s attention, but he and Josh were great friends.

“You said it, not me.” Josh laughed and ruffled Quentin’s floppy hair. “So you think Penny’s the one, huh?”

“Yeah. I’ve got a really good feeling about him. I mean, he’s been in my head before and he’s not afraid, so…”

“A traveler. That’s pretty cool.” Josh smiled but there seemed to be something pitying in his expression that Quentin chose to ignore.

“Yeah. I think so. And those low-cut shirts… and the scarves… he’s… “

“Dreamy. Yeah, I know you think so.” Josh rolled his eyes as if he thought Quentin’s preferences were frivolous. “He’s pretty hot, but you know, your friend Eliot…”

“My _partner._ ” Quentin grinned, thinking fondly of Eliot, the illustrator of his popular comic book, _A Flock of Lost Birds_ , a serial pulp about several characters he’d based on friends. “He’s _paid_ to hang out with me. If he had a choice—”

“Oh Q.” Josh shook his head. “Anyway, I’ll bring you the cupcakes. Good luck tonight!”

Just as Quentin had settled in at his favorite table, he heard Penny’s voice shouting across the room. “Hey, Q!”

When Quentin looked over, Penny swanned in wearing one of his cool outfits, all deep-V tunic with a couple scarves in different patterns and stacks of bracelets. He wasn’t the _kindest_ boyfriend, but he was a literal mind-reader in bed, and he had more style than any guy Quentin knew. Besides Eliot, but Eliot didn’t count.

“Hey,” Penny repeated as he dropped into the seat beside Quentin’s and gave him a crooked little smile. “You look good, Q. Very festive.”

Quentin glanced down at his MERRY CHRISTMAS sweater festooned with reindeer and snowflakes, feeling quite proud of himself for being snuggly as well as in season. “Thank you! I’m so excited to get out to the ranch. Two weeks. Vacation and holidays and Julia’s wedding! I know you and Kady… but she’s so happy and… is that a present? For me?”

Quentin was intrigued, but it seemed like a big box for a ring. It had only been a few months, though. A ring would be much. But still…

Quentin grinned up at Penny as Josh brought them a pair of cupcakes with little dancing nutcrackers on them.

“Oh wow, these are amazing!” Quentin beamed up at Josh, who grinned back down at Quentin. He shot Penny a slightly wary look.

“Enjoy them. I hope.”

Quentin watched Josh walk away with mixed feelings. “Anyway, Penny, Dad will probably prefer we have our own rooms, but I know we can—”

“About that,” Penny interrupted, bringing Quentin up short. He gazed at Penny expectantly as Penny seemed to search for words. “Merry Christmas.”

He shoved the clearly professionally wrapped box at Quentin and then stared at the cupcakes for a moment before looking up to meet Quentin’s gaze. “I’m not going, so I’m giving you your gift today. Um. I can’t— I didn’t expect to be so affected by Kady marrying Julia, but this…” Penny shrugged one shoulder, dark eyes inscrutable. “This ain’t it, Q.”

“But… but we’ve been together for five months. _Five months,_ Penny. That’s… I mean, we should be…” Quentin didn’t even know why he was surprised.

Things had been going so well. The sex was, well, great. Penny was smoking hot, and he seemed to always intuit what Quentin wanted. They’d moved past their initial antagonism and seen it for what it had always been—a very intense attraction.

Yet… as satisfying as the fucking had been, had Quentin really felt emotionally connected to Penny?

Quentin stared at him, horrified, not just by the potential break-up but by the professionally wrapped present. So impersonal.

Immediately he started to shut down into a spiral of hurt. “But it’s _Christmas._ ”

“Look, Q, that’s gonna have to be a you problem.” Penny pushed back his chair and stood. “I’ll see you around.”

“No. _No_.” Quentin picked up his cupcake, feeling manic and angry and ready to cry, but he wasn’t going to cry over this.

Not when this kind of reaction was all too common. Penny or not, Quentin would be the one making the call to end this. In some way.

He shoved half of the cupcake in his mouth, letting the deliciousness wash over him in a way that made him pause and his eyes roll back in his head.

Josh really knew what the fuck he was doing.

“ _I_ will see _you_ around! And… and not if I see you first.” Quentin stood up, practically knocking over the chair he was sitting in.

Josh came out, his hands up as if he was worried that Quentin would destroy his little café again.

“And _I_ will take this present, because you owe me that.” Quentin snatched up the present as he started toward the door, fisting the rest of his cupcake in his other hand. He smashed it into his face as comfort and found himself again confronted with just how _good_ Josh was at goddamned cupcakes. He whirled around in a fury. “And I’m taking your cupcake, too. Because you didn’t pay for it. Josh made it for _me._ People like me!”

Quentin swirled, indicating everyone in the café, all of whom looked sympathetic but mystified by what was happening. “Two weeks before Christmas! We’re supposed to visit my _family!_ ”

The other customers all gave Penny disgruntled looks on Quentin’s behalf.

Quentin stomped back to the table and snatched up the second cupcake. “This is asshole tax.”

He huffed and stormed out the door.

~*~

Pulsating bass thundered through the hardwood floor, making Eliot’s feet throb as he danced with a group of friendly acquaintances pregaming the night’s clubbing a little at a private hot spot. He deserved to unwind, didn’t he? If Quentin was taking the evening off work for a date with Penny—another one; it had been five months now, ugh—then Eliot was taking the evening off to wreak a little havoc.

A very attractive young lady in whom Eliot had no carnal interest bumped and grinded with him to the overtly sexual house rhythm, and he felt a pang for Margo, who he hadn’t seen in a few years now. She was always so busy with her career, and Eliot with his, and well… But honestly, if ever there had been a woman for him, it was Margo.

But really, there wasn’t a woman for him. There was a man—more a boy, really, perpetually so—and somehow Eliot knew even before he looked that the phone vibrating in his pocket would display Quentin’s face. He answered the video call and raised a brow at the sight of Quentin eating a very large cupcake.

The girl he was dancing with made a sound of protest as Eliot slipped away from her. She tried to catch at his coat and tug him back, but he determinedly headed for the stairwell where it would be quiet enough to hear Q. When the music was nothing but low thumping through the wall, Eliot smiled.

“Quentin. That looks delicious. Did you call to torment me with your superior snacking status?”

“I dumped him.” Quentin said it like a declaration, but it was obvious from how he was eating that cupcake, eyes already shrink wrapped with tears, that the exact opposite happened. Quentin was probably the only one surprised that Penny wasn’t going to go to Kady’s wedding as a happy date, five months or not.

Still, Quentin’s abject misery brought Eliot no joy.

“And now, I’ve gotta go upstate and I don’t have… I thought he… I mean, you know me. Men aren’t usually my… but I thought… and things were so…” Quentin sniffed, but he wasn’t quite crying, which made Eliot believe that he wasn’t really _that_ upset. All he’d ever really talked about was the sex, which seemed to be Quentin’s only actual measure of compatibility as far as relationships went. “We need to work on the book anyway, right? You could… I mean, it’s nice and peaceful and it’s not… here?”

Eliot blinked. That was unexpected. “You’re asking _me_ to go with you to the wedding? As…what, a working vacation?”

It wasn’t exactly the romantic invitation of his dreams, but if things were finally over with Penny…

Carpe diem, or whatever, right? And Eliot was going to carpe the shit out of the diem.

“If I do this, you owe me. I want to control the music the whole trip. There and back. And you’re driving.” Eliot could barely say no to Quentin on the best day, let alone when Q was all puppy-eyed and sad boy. All he could do was negotiate his terms.

This trip would mean missing two weeks of the city’s most festive clubbing opportunities but…

“And no leaving me alone with your family,” Eliot added, proud of himself for thinking of that one.

“What? You love Julia. And Dad. And Kady.” Quentin didn’t even sound convinced of any of that. He sniffled. “All right. But no House music. I’ll drive. I’ll rent a car.”

Because Quentin didn’t have a car, not that he’d admit that to anyone but Eliot. Who needed a car in the city anyway?

“It’ll be fun. I’ll make some gingerbread cookies, and you can make your special eggnog, and we can write a whole story about Sam and… maybe we can give Brian a happy ending for once.”

Brian, Quentin’s self-insert into the book in which there was no Eliot, seemed to be flailing, which gave Eliot some sense of satisfaction sometimes.

“We can make fun of Julia’s dowdy dress, because you know it’s going to be… Just come with me, please?”

“Of course.” Eliot smiled softly and gentled his voice into dry compassion. “Do you want me to come over? Bring some ice cream or something? We can badmouth Penny and drink wine until you puke.”

“Just bring wine. I have cheese. I’ve already had two of Josh’s cupcakes. I shouldn’t have more sugar.” The way that Quentin looked at the phone camera was sheer pathetic sweetness. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep without you.”

Eliot melted, not that he let Quentin see that. “I’ll be right there.”

~*~

When Quentin answered his door, Eliot bustled in carrying several stylish reusable bags full of wine, olives, crackers, dried fruits, and ultra-dark chocolate bars. He appeared to have cleaned out a specialty grocer. He pecked Quentin’s cheek on the way past into the kitchen and started unpacking his haul like he lived there.

He decidedly _didn’t_ live there—Eliot’s apartment was a bizarrely fashionable and impossibly tiny studio in Bushwick—but he did spend an extraordinary amount of time there working. Well. Brainstorming. Eliot hardly ever did his actual artwork under Quentin’s gaze. Eliot had a lot of creative input, though. Quentin worked better collaboratively, and Eliot’s visuals brought so much to the story.

“So Penny broke up with you on your five month anniversary,” Eliot said without preamble as he opened Quentin’s fridge and began manhandling cheeses onto the counter, inspecting each variety.

“Ugh, don’t remind me. He brought me a gift, though.” Quentin moved behind the bar just outside the kitchen where Eliot often served him cocktails. He folded his arms on the marble counter and pressed his chin atop his hands. “I don’t know where it went wrong. What is that, five relationships in two years? Maybe I’m just supposed to be alone. Who wants to be with a dorky comic book author?”

Quentin peered up at Eliot with what he thought were puppy dog eyes. He wanted Eliot to feel sorry for him, to run his fingers through Quentin’s hair and feed him cheese and wine until things didn’t hurt so much. “I just really thought… I thought he was the one. You know I don’t usually date men, but I just thought… I don’t know.”

Eliot’s expression clouded for a moment, and then he gave Quentin a wry look. “You don’t usually date men, and then of all the men you could’ve dated, you dated _Penny Adiyodi_. I know self-hatred can go along with clinical depression, but honestly, even Dante would blanch at that level of punishment.”

Sometimes Eliot’s meanness bothered Quentin a little, but today, aimed at Penny, it was kind of a relief. Then Eliot was slipping behind the bar with a tray of cheese, crackers, and accouterments. He performed a nifty aeration charm on the first bottle of wine, what appeared to be a potent dark red, and then poured them both enormous glasses.

Eliot pressed Quentin’s glass into his hand, their fingers brushing together comfortingly, and then Eliot lifted his own glass in salute. His eyes glittered with some secret mischief. “To knowing the one when you find them.”

“To hoping whoever they are, they’re half as amazing as your best friend.” Quentin held up his glass, feeling maudlin as he gazed at Eliot.

He was so perfect. Charming, funny, attractive, talented… all characteristics that put him way out of Quentin’s league.

Even still, the chance assignment from the publisher had brought them together. Eliot was, bar none, the best person Quentin knew. Everyone else paled in comparison. How couldn’t they?

His interest in Eliot had moved him to try dating men, but that had thus far been disastrous, and Quentin wondered if he just wasn’t… gay enough? He didn’t know. He didn’t want to ask. Eliot would probably just laugh at him and his egocentric idea that Eliot could ever be into him.

At least he’d get to show Eliot off to his family and hometown. “We can skip a lot of the weird town dances and stuff if you want to.”

Quentin got up once plied with wine and headed to his room where Penny’s Christmas present was waiting. Eliot followed, refilled glass in hand and lips stained red as berries. His expression was unreadable as he watched Quentin open the gift.

It was a Christmas ornament shaped like a gilt-edged deck of playing cards.

“Oh, like ‘here, have hang this on your tree to commemorate that time I broke up with you.’” Eliot snorted and sipped his wine. “Classy.”

Quentin frowned at it and tossed it aside. “I should give you your gift here, probably. Well, one of them.”

He vanished into another room and returned with a large, wrapped painting, a Paul Cadmus print—Quentin couldn’t afford an original—that Quentin was pretty sure Eliot would enjoy in his small apartment filled with homoerotic art. “You can unwrap the other in front of the family. I thought this would be… I thought you’d like it.”

Eliot beamed as he took in what was obviously a gift-wrapped frame and giddily removed the wrapping paper. When he saw the painting, he gasped in obvious delight and shot Quentin a bright smile. “Cadmus! You know me so well!”

As Eliot finished clearing away the wrapping paper, he traced his fingertips over the lines of the print without touching it and sighed. “Queer art for the queer artist. Always a good bet. But I’ve always loved this one in particular. How did you guess?” His gaze flicked from the print up to Quentin’s face, all his attention on Quentin.

“Your expression changes when you look at it. Just a little. You know, softening around the eyes. Smile a little less. Like you’re more in awe than pleased with the subject matter. I don’t know.” Quentin shrugged, feeling embarrassed at having confessed how much he’d studied Eliot’s expression. His face felt hot as he turned and faced the wall while he tried to deal with it. “Lucky guess.”

“This is a wonderful gift. Thank you, Q.” Eliot seemed quietly pleased, humming _Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas_ as he threw away the wrapping paper and stowed the print safely out of the way. He came to stand behind Quentin and rested his hands on Quentin’s shoulders, massaging slowly. “I promise I have something for you too, but it’s going to be just… a big surprise.”

Somehow Eliot sounded a little anxious about that.

“I do love surprises.” Quentin put his hands on Eliot’s and gave them a squeeze. “You really don’t mind coming with me?”

He turned around to face Eliot, gazing up into his hazel eyes, excited about the surprise present coming his way. Eliot gave the best gifts.

Quentin put his hands on Eliot’s pecs as Eliot squeezed Quentin’s shoulders until Quentin caved and tucked himself comfortably against Eliot’s chest. There he exhaled a shuddering sigh, letting all the hurt from the breakup melt away.

Eliot was magic like that.

“I’m such an idiot wanting this big romantic…” Quentin sighed again as Eliot squeezed him. “I don’t know. Julia says I should grow up, find someone compatible, and be done with it.”

“Ah, but that’s not enough for you, is it, Q?” Eliot made a soft clicking sound with his tongue and rubbed his hands up and down Quentin’s back soothingly. “You’re a passionate guy. You want the fireworks.”

Eliot sighed too, as if acknowledging the difficulty Quentin faced in finding such a thing, and then gave him an extra-firm snuggle. “You’ll find them, I think, if you…” He trailed off, like even he didn’t know what to say next.

Eliot always knew what to say. It was bad when he was speechless.

After a moment, he changed the subject. “I’m spending the night, right? Let’s go get our drink on, watch bad movies, and cuddle on the couch eating cheese until we’re too stuffed to function.” Pulling back a little, Eliot looked into Quentin’s eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Big spoon?” Quentin looked up at Eliot, knowing he never turned spooning down, but if there was a night where he might, it would be tonight probably. “Hallmark Channel?”

“Ding ding ding!” Eliot smiled and swatted Quentin’s ass as he herded him out to the couch. “Get a move on, Q. The wine’s not gonna drink itself.”

~*~

They left New York City behind after brunch, heading upstate to the small, magical community of Fillory. Eliot had gone to Brakebills for graduate school like virtually every other hotshot young magician. It was where he’d met Quentin and his family, but unlike Quentin, Julia, and their dad, former Brakebills Dean Henry Fogg, Eliot had grown up in rural Indiana, not idyllic Fillory. He hadn’t realized he was magical until his teens.

He always tried to act as if magic—and sophistication—came naturally to him, but it had been quite an undertaking. His undergraduate degree in art had been hard-won, and the friends he’d made along the way had helped him hone his persona, but visiting Quentin’s home…

Well.

Eliot kept up a steady stream of Not House through the rental’s Bluetooth, compromising with Quentin to stick mainly to disco, which was both fun to sing along to and fun to listen to Quentin _attempt_ to sing along to. Also, it gave Eliot an excuse for busting out his dance moves in the passenger seat, resulting in lots of laughs from Quentin, which was really Eliot’s purpose in life. He loved to make his sad boy smile.

Just as they reached the _You are entering FILLORY, New York_ sign, a siren blipped behind them, lights flashing as a big black and white police truck pulled out onto the nearly deserted road.

Eliot cursed inwardly and hoped there wasn’t some kind of K-9 unit going on because he had brought a healthy supply of varied pharmaceuticals. “Um, Q. I guess we should… Um.”

Police and Eliot did not have a great history together.

“ _Be-eh-ell, ring my bell_!” Quentin sang, one hand on the steering wheel, the other up on the rental’s ceiling. He slowed the car and pulled off to the side, still bopping. “Boooowm!”

His eyes sparkled as he brought the car to a halt, grinning at Eliot. “I wasn’t speeding. Think this is more of a…”

They both turned back to see Poppy Kline in full uniform sauntering up to the open window. “Heeeey. What’s going on here?”

“Hey, Poppy. Just heading into town for Julia’s wedding.” Quentin turned the music down. “Sorry, was I speeding?”

“I dunno. Maybe. Who knows? I don’t know how that thing works. I just give tickets to people I don’t like.”

“Good thing you like me, right?” Quentin gave his winningest smile.

“Of course. I just wanted to say hi.” She grinned as she tilted her head and took in Eliot. “Oh, who’s this? Eliot Waugh? Are you two…?”

Her hand went to her hip where a pad of tickets was.

“He’s my partner.” Quentin looked desperately over at Eliot and then back to Poppy as she started to pull out the citations pad. “My _work_ partner. He’s coming to do some work stuff. We’re not…”

“Oh. Good, good.” She pushed the pad back into her pocket. “What do you do these days, Eliot?”

“I illustrate comic books,” Eliot supplied, trying on his most charming smile as well. Who could deny the power and majesty of combined Quentin and Eliot smiles? “Q writes the stories, and I provide the visuals.”

Resisting the urge to leap out of the rental car and hightail it into the woods away from the popo, Eliot took a deep breath and itched for a smoke. This was so stressful. How had Poppy Kline of all people ended up in law enforcement?

Quentin had always thought she was pretty though, hadn’t he? He was giving her that look now, that _you are an attractive female and I am an idiot_ look. Oh well, that was fucking spectacular.

“Oh, how neat. You love comic books, don’t you, Q? You know, I’ve actually been doing some writing myself. About dragons. It’s, you know, erotic. Some visuals would be really great. I’m going to need to see some ID,” Poppy said, narrowing her eyes as if she could read Eliot’s discomfort.

“For what?” Quentin asked as he batted Poppy’s hand away. “Stop it.”

She laughed, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes as she kept her gaze on Eliot. “Just kidding. But I know where you’re staying, so keep that in mind.”

“Haha. Oh, Officer Kline, you have such a sense of humor.” Eliot smiled brighter, like that would somehow deflect her weirdness.

Of course, the little he knew of Poppy suggested she’d always been weird—and Q liked them weird, so naturally—but honestly. _How_ had she become a cop?

When she didn’t seem charmed or satisfied by that, Eliot’s stomach knotted and he asked, “Did you change your hair? It looks great.”

It was a classic standby that often ingratiated him with people when he hadn’t adequately paid attention to them previously, suggesting that he cared more about them than he did.

“No, it’s the same.”

So much for that.

She turned her attention back to Quentin, grinning. “Anyway, it’s really good to see you again, Q. While you’re here we should go out, get some coffee or something.”

“Oh yeah, sure. That would be great. I mean, I’ll be busy with work and Julia’s wedding and everything, but I’m sure we could. That would be great. Really great.” The way Quentin said it made it sound like Quentin didn’t _really_ want to and could probably put off that coffee indefinitely, but it was enough to get Poppy to back off.

“Okay. I’ll find you. Coffee.” She pointed at Quentin and gave Eliot an insincere smile. “Soon.”

“Yeah, thanks, Officer,” Quentin said, sticking his head out to watch her go back to her police vehicle. “Bye.”

Quentin exhaled as he started the car up again and gave Eliot a brief shrug.

“Did you two date? I don’t actually _remember_ you two having a relationship, but I definitely recognize a woman who wants to revisit her adventures in dickland.” Eliot huffed, not quite laughing because it wasn’t quite funny, and watched Poppy’s truck pull out from behind them and take off down the road. He looked to Quentin then and raised a brow. “Whatever you did to her, she wants more of it.”

Quentin’s cheeks turned bright red. “Yeah, um, adventures in dickland is probably a more accurate way to describe that time than dating. She didn’t seem that into me. Like, not _me_. Just, you know… Honestly, I was impressed she remembered my name and that I had a face. It was a fun three months, though.”

“Oh, Q.” Eliot tutted at him and shook his head. “You are such an ambulatory disaster area, and I cannot with you. You are both blessed and cursed with that face, honestly. _Honestly._ ”

Then Eliot turned up the music again and motioned to Quentin to drive on. Grinning as Q obliged, Eliot performed the backing vocals just for the joy of watching Quentin sing his atonal heart out.


	2. Chapter 2

Quentin pulled up the freshly shoveled driveway to the giant log cabin that was his childhood home. There was plenty of room for a family of three, plus some space to grow. Henry Fogg had sometimes housed wayward students or young people with magic potential temporarily in the extra bedrooms—like Poppy Kline, once upon a time—but Quentin and Julia were the only ones he’d formally adopted. They’d been left on his doorstep when they were babies.

They were raised together with the aid of a nanny and sometimes called twins since they were the same age. Not knowing their real birth dates, they shared one. Despite all that, their approaches to life were incredibly different.

Julia had grown close with Henry, adopting his more pragmatic attitude toward life. They shared the magical discipline of Knowledge, but rather than allowing her to attend Brakebills, Henry had her privately tutored to perfect her magical education. She was serious-minded, focused, and more than a little intimidating to anyone who wasn’t Quentin or Kady.

Once the car was off, Quentin hopped out. “Go on in. I’ll grab the bags. Say hi to Julia.”

As he rounded the car, Quentin was shocked to find Eliot already at the trunk and pulling out bags. He must’ve hustled so that he’d have an excuse not to face Julia on his own.

“Oh, you. She’s not _that_ scary.”

Eliot seemed determined to carry _all_ the bags, and Quentin sighed, letting him. “Well thank you, anyway. You big baby.”

He laughed as he jogged up the steps and threw open the door. “Hellooooo!”

Julia appeared to be dictating something to Kady, who was taking studious notes. Quentin threw off his coat to run and grab Julia. He spun with her as she playfully squawked at him.

“Q! I was in the middle of something!” Julia was laughing as she batted at his strong grip on her.

“Yeah, you’re in the middle of a hug! I missed you!” Quentin set her down and kissed her cheek, then turned to give a big hug to Kady, who looked relieved to see him.

Julia was probably driving Kady a little crazy with her perfectionism around the wedding, but she was flushed, too. As if she was very happy to finally be getting married. “Hey, Q, good to see you. And you brought _Eliot_? Oh, now it’s gonna be a party.”

Kady ended their hug and tilted her head. “No Penny?”

From the other side of the room, Julia groaned.

All right, so it was probably poor form to invite Kady’s ex to her wedding, but that had been years ago, and everyone supposedly had moved on.

“We have another thing in common now, Kady. Both Penny exes.”

“Aw. That’s too bad.” Kady squeezed Quentin’s hands and then bypassed him to give Eliot a hug after he set the bags down by the door.

“I never got that. You and Penny. You were roommates, and you spent the whole time antagonizing each other.” Julia leaned against the kitchen counter, shaking her head.

“Yeah, I mean, that’s… you know…” Quentin exhaled. “Classic enemies-to-lovers trope. You have to feel strongly for someone to want to irritate them that much. And he was always looking for excuses to touch me.”

“You mean shove you against things and yell at you to stop having a song in your head?” Julia folded her arms and rolled her eyes. “He’s an asshole, Q. So I take it your whole bisexual experimentation thing is over now? Or…”

Julia eyed Eliot.

“Experiment?” Quentin huffed as he watched Eliot going straight for the liquor bar. Good. Quentin was going to need that, too, if Julia was going to start up being biphobic at him like her own fiancée wasn’t bi. “I’ve been attracted to men before.”

“How many men have you dated, Q?”

“Including Penny?”

“Sure.”

“One, but I mean, I’ve had crushes and stuff.”

Julia eyed Eliot briefly, and Quentin felt the heat rise in his cheeks.

“But you’ve dated a lot of women.”

“Nobody’s perfect.” Quentin waggled his brows at Julia, trying to get her to laugh. “Come on, it’s Christmas. Where’s Dad?”

“Julia, what are you drinking?” Eliot called from the bar, where he’d already managed to line up several different cocktails and was poised to make another. “Q, there’s a festive cocktail I want you to try.” Eliot gestured at a drink that looked like cranberry juice with herbs on top. To Kady, he said, “And for you—and for me—a cranberry Old Fashioned. What can I say? I bring the party with me when I travel.”

Eliot had never been here before, but somehow he’d managed to assemble all that in that short space of time with just what was behind the bar and what he’d brought in his bags. He was kind of miraculous like that.

And wow did this place need a dose of holiday cheer. Quentin hadn’t immediately noticed on approach the lack of holiday lights, but inside it looked much the same as it always did, perhaps with a little extra clutter relating to the impending wedding strewn around. No one had decorated yet, and Christmas was less than two weeks away.

“Quentin!” Henry appeared at the top of the stairs, deep voice booming, and rushed down two steps at a time to wrap Quentin in an embrace. “My boy, it’s good to see you and—” He looked around, ostensibly for Penny, and then his gaze landed on Eliot with apparent disappointment. “Waugh.”

“Dean Fogg,” Eliot said in return greeting, hands moving quickly as he mixed up a drink that would likely counteract Henry’s poor opinion of him. No one could stay irritated with Eliot when he was bartending.

Returning his gaze to Quentin, Henry dropped his voice to a stage whisper. “Where is Adiyodi?”

Quentin sighed heavily, keeping his arm around Henry. “The real question here is, where are the Christmas decorations? It’s in two weeks. Where’s the tree? Where are the presents wrapped with care?”

He released Henry and headed over to Eliot to grab the cocktail made for him and took a sip. It was so good. “Oh my god, Eliot. This is… mmm. So anyway, Eliot’s here instead and a good thing he is.”

Julia wandered over, looking at the drinks suspiciously before she took Quentin’s, gave it a sip, decided it was hers, and walked off.

“You’re welcome,” Quentin called after her playfully.

“We’ve been busy, Q. Wedding planning is no joke.” Julia made herself at home on the couch.

“But it’s _Christmas._ ” Quentin picked up the other cocktails Eliot had made to distribute them to Henry and Kady.

“Didn’t you bring Eliot here so you could work over the holiday?” Julia said, looking between them.

“Yeah. I mean. Kinda. I mean, yes. That’s why.” Quentin tried to get a hold of himself; best not to look too blushy. He didn’t want to make Eliot uncomfortable. They were coworkers. Work husbands. Best friends. “He’s my plus one.”

“That’s me,” Eliot answered drily. “Plus one.” He whipped up another of the cranberry-bourbon-herbal cocktails as Kady and Henry each accepted their drinks with approving smiles. “Let them plan the wedding, Q. I’ll go Christmas shopping with you and help you decorate. We’ll pick out a tree on our own.”

Henry grunted, apparently pleased as he drank his cocktail. He’d often blamed Eliot for bringing down the entire collective GPA of the Physical Kids, but he loved a good stiff drink, and no one could mix a good stiff drink like El. “Yes, that sounds like an adequate solution. You two handle Christmas, and we’ll handle the nuptials.”

Kady shot Quentin a little smile when Julia wasn’t looking, like she was grateful he was in the festive spirit. That or she just really enjoyed her cocktail. There really was no telling, because she didn’t say anything at all. She _did_ reach out and rest her hand on Julia’s knee, thumb rubbing little semi-circles there like that might soothe Julia’s irritation.

“In that case, it’s a _good thing_ my sister robbed me of a truly excellent cocktail.” Quentin made his way back to Eliot and tugged lightly on his tie. “Come on, plus one. We’ve only got a couple more hours of daylight to pick out the best tree.”

Julia sat up. “Today’s the last day of the Church of Our Lady Underground’s Christmas benefit bazaar if you want to get some decorations in the spirit of giving.”

“Oh, they have all the best treats there, too. Then the carnival starts this weekend. Oh El, you’re going to love it so much.” Quentin realized he was tugging a little hard on Eliot’s tie, pulling him closer. “Um, oops, sorry.”

Quentin released it and tried to straighten it. “Accidental breathplay, very poor form. I should’ve asked.”

That startled a little laugh out of Eliot, who just knocked back his drink and came out from the bar to follow Quentin to the door. “So kinky, and in front of your family,” Eliot teased, but he sounded delighted.

Henry looked like he wished he could forget the last three minutes of his life.

“Drive safe!” Kady called after them. “You’re cooking dinner, right, Eliot?”

Eliot paused and looked back over his dapper shoulder, eyes narrowed as he looked from face to face. “What would you even do without me? I shudder to think.”

Then he preened a little and strutted past Quentin out to the rental car like he was King of Fillory.

“And I’m making Christmas cookies. And gingerbread and…” Quentin swirled his fingers around the room. “This place is going to _smell_ like Christmas. It’s going to _look_ like Christmas. You’re going to regret not calling me in sooner.”

Quentin had more to say about that, but Eliot backtracked, scooped him up by the waist, and dragged Quentin to the car.

~*~

Eliot actually enjoyed playing tourist with Quentin as his guide, pointing out sights he’d known since childhood. The Church of Our Lady Underground was absolutely beautiful, at least, to an artist’s eye. Half of it looked to be in perpetual springtime, and the other half looked like bleak winter. The details were incredible, literally mythical, all of it god-touched and unlike anything Eliot had ever seen. He’d traveled the world and hit up several other magical hotspots, but Fillory’s proximity to Brakebills made it something special.

As Quentin parked in the church’s lot, Eliot champed at the bit, ready to shop. He found it amusing that Persephone’s church would hold a Christmas bazaar, but then… the gods had their own sense of humor. As they tromped carefully along the icy, salted path, Eliot resisted the urge to hold Q’s hand for all of thirty seconds. Then, ostensibly to help him keep his balance, Eliot folded his gloved hand around Quentin’s and squeezed gently.

Quentin seemed grateful for the hand as he shuffled to catch up with Eliot. His hair was a silly mess, as was his face, a silly mess of joy and determination. He stopped and reached out to Eliot with his other hand, and Eliot pulled Quentin along the ice as Quentin laughed.

Honestly, what a dork.

A charming dorky dork.

They’d already chosen a tree. Well, Quentin had. He’d had some elaborate choosing process that was apparently traditional and which was entirely lost on Eliot, though he found it endearing in the extreme. That fluffy fir was now tied to the roof of their rental, which was probably all kinds of against the rules, but what was the fun in following the rules with a rental car?

“Okay, so obviously Christmas in Fillory is more… you know, just about the tradition and gift giving and an excuse to party. It kind of overlaps in places with other faiths and whatever, and it’s a good time to raise money, and ohh, do you smell the evergreen?” Quentin’s eyes sparkled as he followed his nose straight to a display of fresh, handmade wreaths.

Quentin stared up at them, lips parted. He shockingly didn’t seem to notice that the woman standing right next to him was Alice.

“Hello, Quentin,” Alice said in her slightly clipped way of speaking. She was bundled up against the cold all in red and black. Not exactly screaming Christmas, but she appeared happy enough.

“Oh! Alice, oh my god!” Quentin turned and gave her a big hug. “These your wreaths? They’re beautiful!”

Eliot tolerated the hugging for about as long as he could before clearing his throat and lifting a hand in a tiny wave.

“Hello, Alice.” He manufactured a small smile because they’d been friends, mostly, and Eliot couldn’t blame her for having stolen Q away before Eliot could get his shit together to make some kind of move.

Of course, Eliot considered himself to have made several moves. Outrageous moves. Bold, direct flirting and clearly expressed interest, even. When Quentin never really took him up on it, he just assumed Quentin was straight.

Then, out of nowhere, cue the Penny situation with his melodramatic about-face. Apparently what Quentin required was a move so breathtakingly romantic that he couldn’t second guess it.

So really, Alice was a minor thorn in Eliot’s side, long familiar, at least when she wasn’t currently pressing her magnificent bosom against Quentin in an apparently infinite embrace.

“Oh, Eliot. I didn’t see you there.” Because it was so easy to miss a six-foot-four glorious magician.

Quentin was swaying them side-to-side, but Alice patted his back and then backed up.

Alice nodded to Eliot and then smiled at both of them. “So you two finally—”

“Oh no. No, no, no, no,” Quentin said a little too vehemently for Eliot’s taste. Then he laughed, perhaps a little too hard, throwing his head back as if the whole idea was implausible. “Eliot’s just here as my plus one. We work together now. Comic books.”

“Oh, that’s nice. I remember that. You’ve been quite successful. Good for you. Good for you both.” Alice smiled at Quentin, barely looking at Eliot. She took Quentin’s arm. “So can I interest you in a wreath? These over here have magical accents. Look at that one… those flames are magic so the candles won’t torch your house. Just gives it a nice, warm glow.”

She pulled Quentin in close to her, against her bosom, as she leaned forward and inhaled the wreath. “Smell that?”

Quentin’s eyes were closed as he breathed it in. “Yes. That’s _perfect._ ”

Eliot’s smile went slightly strained and he snipped, “He could smell it from outside. He practically dragged me over here, following his nose like the Froot Loops toucan.”

Not that jealousy was a great look on Eliot. He had it on good authority—Margo’s—that it made his chin look weaker, and while his was a strong and manly chin that could probably handle a slight emasculation, now was not the time to yield.

Reaching for his better nature—what there was of it, at least—Eliot inhaled as well. Yep. Evergreen all right. “It smells like trees,” he said, feigning surprise. “Do wreaths come from trees, Alice? Did you rob sweet, innocent trees of their boughs in the dead of winter just to make these decorations?”

“They’re lovingly cut from tree volunteers. The funds that are raised go to feed the hungry. They’re enchanted to give you a feeling of well-being. Maybe you should lean in and take a bigger whiff, _Eliot._ ” Alice smirked at him as she released Quentin.

She reached over them and pulled the wreath down. “You should have this one. Maybe get some hot cocoa from Celeste. It’ll help you relax.”

Quentin took the wreath and started digging in his pocket for his wallet. “Hot cocoa?”

Alice waved him off. “It’s on me, Q. I get the feeling you need a really good holiday.”

“What about the hungry?” Quentin held the wreath close and sniffed it again, seeming way too excited about it. At least that was heartening; he really did seem to be more into the wreath than anything else. He got out his wallet, pulled a few bills from it, and passed them to Alice. “It was good to see you, Alice.”

“Always good to see you, Q. Happy holidays.”

“Happy holidays, Alice,” Eliot echoed as he held out his elbow for Quentin to tuck his hand in its crook. He gave Alice a bland smile as he escorted Quentin away, following his own nose this time in search of Celeste and her hot cocoa.

A short line had formed between them and their goal, which seemed a popular destination at this hour of the afternoon. The sun was as warm as it was going to get, and the air was still breathtakingly chill. The steam wafting from the old-timey vat of cocoa sold it compellingly.

“So,” Eliot ventured, giving Quentin a sidelong look as he worked up his nerve. “How did you leave things with Alice last time? It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Seems like the fences are mended. She was _very_ friendly.”

“It’s the holidays. But she did seem kind of…” Quentin looked back over his shoulder. She was talking to some other customers, but she spared a glance for them and gave Quentin a smile. “I don’t know. I think the whole fox thing was sort of the pinnacle of our relationship. Would be nice, though. You know. To have someone. Maybe someone I’ve known for a while.”

That… What did Q even mean by that? Was he really thinking about getting back with Alice of all people?

But he was looking right at her.

Eliot suppressed a grumpy harrumph and tugged Quentin as they moved forward in line. The group ahead of them cleared out, leaving them standing before a woman whose nametag proclaimed her the famous Celeste, and Eliot beamed at her like his life depended on winning her good opinion.

“Happy holidays, Celeste. Alice recommended your hot cocoa, so of course we immediately traversed the bazaar to sample your incomparable comestibles.” Eliot surveyed the stall’s selection of sizes and pronounced, “Two of your largest cocoas, please, but do leave a little space in the top of one.”

“Happy holidays to you two gentlemen.” Celeste ladled the steaming cocoa into two large paper cups and topped them with marshmallows, whipped cream, and cinnamon. Just as Eliot had requested, one had about an inch of room left at the top, which was perfect.

Extracting himself from Quentin’s grip, Eliot paid Celeste, tipped her generously, and then handed Quentin his cocoa, trusting Q’s gloves to protect his hands. As they walked away to make room for the next customers, Eliot reached into his coat for the bottomless flask of booze he kept on him at all times and topped up his cocoa with it. If they were going to keep running into Q’s exes, Eliot really needed the social lubrication.

“Oh look,” Eliot said, gesturing with his flask toward a nearby display of garlands. “More festive décor.” He peered at the volunteer running the stand and squinted, “I don’t suppose you slept with her too?”

“No, but the evening’s early.” Quentin took Eliot’s arm and leaned against him. “Should I shoot my shot, or do you promise to come home and help me decorate and be big spoon? Because that’s what I’d rather. How about you?”

Eliot snorted delicately and leaned into Quentin in turn. “Big spoon it is, assuming your dad lets me sleep in the same room, which honestly I think is going to be a hard sell. But…the last thing you need is one more Fillorian ex.”

“He’s got bigger problems than which room we sleep in. I mean, as long as we don’t make a lot of noise. Spooning is usually pretty quiet.” Quentin hung close to Eliot except when he felt the need to sniff candles or garlands.

Secretly delighted with the situation, Eliot sipped his boozy cocoa and guided Quentin through the bazaar, picking up a few more decorations as they went. Once Q seemed satisfied with their purchases, Eliot helped Quentin pack it all up and they headed back.

~*~

They’d been up late and had probably drunk way too much, but as Quentin peered around the open floorplan living room toward the kitchen, he was very pleased by the density and smell of their Christmas decoration efforts.

The tree was huge, and they’d barely had enough ornaments from the attic. Actually, they didn’t, but Quentin and Eliot had done some duplication spells which had seemed extremely hilarious at the time. Probably because they’d drunk so much, which was probably inadvisable after that calming cocoa. Fortunately, the only injury Quentin sustained was a real ab workout from all their laughing.

Henry hadn’t even bothered to make them go to their separate rooms; he was just grateful when they finally stopped laughing and passed out.

Quentin appeared to be the first one up, so he started a pot of coffee and then preheated the oven. Time to get some Christmas cookies going. He figured once Eliot got up, he’d want to make breakfast, and frankly, he was the better cook.

Baking, though, that was what Quentin enjoyed, and he bet he could get Julia to relax a little decorating some cookies.

He’d been at it for an hour before Julia made an appearance in a cable knit sweater and comfy jeans. She didn’t even say anything until she’d served herself some coffee and picked up an undecorated cookie to munch on. “Can’t believe you’re up again already. How much did you two drink last night?”

Quentin grinned. “We’re professionals, Julia.”

“Eliot’s got some magic potion cure, doesn’t he?”

“Maybe.” Quentin grinned as he sipped his own coffee. “Really it was that calming cocoa that—”

Julia held her hand up. “Celeste’s? Oh, Q. Say no more. We should’ve warned you.”

That seemed to tickle her, and she laughed, shaking her head. It seemed like he hadn’t heard her laugh in years.

“Yeah. We got the large. Eliot added alcohol.” Quentin loved seeing her laugh, even if it was at his expense.

“Eliot added alcohol to _what?_ ” Eliot asked drowsily as he sauntered across the living area to the kitchen wearing a low-slung pair of black silk boxers and a paisley silk dressing gown like he was some sort of dissolute gift of the gods. His curly hair stuck up in all directions, and he shot Julia a dopey smile. “Hi, Jules. Is Q telling you about how absolutely bombed we got last night?”

As Eliot passed behind Quentin into the kitchen proper, he swatted Quentin’s ass and then buried his face in the fridge. “Who wants omelets?”

“No one had to tell us. We all _heard_ you two. Like hyenas. Thought we were going to have to peel Quentin off the ceiling. You know he’s not as experienced as you, Eliot.” Julia fussed, mostly into her coffee cup.

“I’m not a child, Julia. Besides, Dad lets me stay out with Eliot as late as I want, even on school nights, when I’m in the city.” Quentin turned to Eliot wondering why anyone would try to pretend El was the responsible adult. “I want an omelet.”

“Just coffee for me. Thanks for the cookie, Q.”

“Hey!” Quentin reached across the kitchen island to Julia. “Look at all these naked cookies. I need help!”

She rolled her eyes. “Get your work husband to help you. I have shit to do.”

“Jules!” Quentin frowned at her and looked down at the counter full of cookies. He’d brought out all sorts of sprinkles and sugar beads to decorate with, plus he’d been mixing icing and had food coloring sitting right there for her to choose which color she wanted.

He must’ve looked sufficiently pathetic because Julia sighed loudly and set her coffee cup down. “You are so annoying.”

Quentin beamed. “I know.”

“You two,” Eliot began as he pulled ingredients from the fridge, “are fucking adorable. It’s atrocious. I don’t know why I agreed to be here.”

He picked up a spatula and shook it at Julia. “Your brother is a smol and precious bean and must be protected at all costs. I trust you understand this because you have conceded the point and agreed—tacitly, but still—to decorate these cookies with him. I expect you to eat an omelet as well, as my thank you for not forcing me to put my art degree to use piping icing. You’re not lactose intolerant, are you?”

Then Eliot briskly moved to fire up the stove and banged around a bit finding an omelet pan. He appeared to have made himself right at home.

“He thinks you’re going to let him get away with not decorating cookies,” Julia said as she watched Quentin mixing the icing.

“I know. It’s like he’s never met me.” Quentin rolled his eyes. “He’s going to make you eat an omelet, you know. He’ll have it follow you the rest of the day begging to be eaten. I may or may not have experienced that.”

“Seriously? I’m just not hungry, guys. Things are so stressful, trying to make this wedding happen, and we’re trying to find our own place…”

“You’re leaving Fillory?” Quentin divided up the icing into several bowls, adding food coloring for her to choose from. “But wh—”

The doorbell rang, and Quentin traded looks with Julia and then Eliot. No one seemed to know who would be coming over so early. Julia was filling a piping bag with white frosting and gestured that her hands were full.

Quentin sighed and shrugged before heading over to answer. He was greeted with a festively liveried gentleman holding a large gilded cage topped with a red velvet bow and a beautiful woman dressed in Christmas-themed 19th century attire. The moment Quentin looked at her face, she began singing.

“On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…a partridge in a pear tree!”

The man offered Quentin the cage, which bore an embossed, foiled card on its front. When Quentin opened the card, it read in beautiful calligraphy “ _To my One True Love.”_ No signature, no clue who had sent this gift.

As Quentin stared at the card, the lady whispered, “Try opening the cage.”

The whole thing was utterly puzzling but also exciting. _One True Love._

“Are you sure this is for me?” Quentin whispered back. If it was one thing that had been illustrated for him in the past couple of days, Quentin had… many very stunted attempts at love. So many exes.

But someone loved him?

He pressed the note to his chest as the woman nodded but then mimed zipping her lips as if that was more than she should’ve said.

“Okay.” Quentin struck up his courage and opened the cage, hoping this wasn’t going to end in some kind of kinky scenario that would make even Eliot blush.

As the cage door opened, it grew steadily, expanding to a size perfect for Quentin to walk through, but on the other side wasn’t the cage: It was a beautiful late summer scene of a pear tree laden with fruit. A wooden swing hung from a sturdy branch, and a partridge—it had to be a partridge—nestled above it. The scent transported Quentin from his Christmastime reality to an alternate dimension full of juicy pears and soft, freshly cut green grass underfoot.

It was a pocket dimension, a tiny universe all its own, and apparently it was just for Quentin.

“Hey there,” he said to the partridge, who just cocked its head and looked at him. He approached it slowly and gently stroked its breast. Then he reached up to the tree, pulled down a pear, and took a bite. Its juices ran into his mouth and down his fingers. It was perfectly ripe and sweet, no grain.

He gobbled it greedily then picked a few more to take to Eliot and his family. Arms full, he looked back at the partridge, who regarded him as a curiosity.

“I’m, um, not sure what to do with you, so um… you know… partridge around or whatever you do.”

When he stepped back out of the cage, the woman and the man were gone.

Henry was gazing at the cage through a lens, Kady appeared to be preparing some battle magic, and Julia hung back with Eliot, staring at the cage and then Quentin, wide-eyed.

“Hey, guys, I got pears! From my true love! And a partridge… which I’m not sure what to do with, but he came with the pear tree like from the song!” Quentin advanced, holding a pear out to Kady who was nearest.

Kady looked askance at the pear, did a quick reveal charm, ostensibly to expose dangers, and then reluctantly accepted it. Smiling hesitantly at Quentin, she took a bite.

“Oh,” she gasped as a rivulet of juice ran down her chin. “That’s so good.”

She turned to Julia, offering her a bite. “Try this, Jules. It’s perfect.”

Standing next to her, Eliot raised a brow at Julia, obviously interested in her reaction.

“It appears to be a standard pocket dimension,” Henry announced into the momentary silence. “Well-built. Professionally done, I’d say. Very solid construction.” He glanced at Quentin, growing droll. “Your ‘true love’ spared no expense.”

“Quentin, I thought we talked about eating food from unknown pocket dimensions.” Julia eyed the fruit and then looked up at Kady as if suspicious something terrible was going to happen. “This could’ve come from anyone!”

“Not anyone,” Quentin said, offering a pear to Eliot. “It came from _my true love_. You think my true love would try to poison me? Who would do that?”

“You do have a _lot_ of exes, Q.” Julia folded her arms, but Kady fed her the pear anyway, rolling her eyes at Julia’s paranoia.

“You make it sound so tawdry. Anyway, I’m always the dumpee, so if anyone is going to be sending poison pears around, it would be me, right?” Having distributed the pears, Quentin picked up the cage. “This is amazing. It’s going to be so cool to have my own pear tree in New York! El, we can sit in here and enjoy pears and partridges—you don’t think the partridge will get lonely by himself in there, will he? Should we get him a friend?”

Eliot smirked as he nibbled his pear, juice beading on his stubble. “What makes you think I know anything about partridges?”

Henry shot Eliot a searching look, impossible to miss, but El carried on munching his pear peacefully.

“Good pear, though,” Eliot added, expression serene. “I’ll have to make you baked pears and brie all the time when we head home. Your fruit intake is about to skyrocket. You’re going to be crazy healthy.”

Henry grunted, as if he couldn’t argue with the idea of Quentin getting adequate nutrition. As if Eliot would ever have allowed Quentin to live off takeout anyway. He was always fussing over Quentin.

“Quentin is of the opinion you know everything about everything, Eliot.” Julia took a second pear in spite of herself. “I’m surprised you haven’t figured that out by now.”

“Julia!” Quentin’s face flushed hot as he carried the cage past everyone and inside. He didn’t know what to say to that. They were best friends and work husbands and… Eliot did know a lot.

She followed him in. “How do you even know that’s for you? There are other people in the house.”

That stopped Quentin short, and he turned around. “I don’t know. The woman… the singer, she nodded when I asked, but… did you do this for Kady?”

Julia made a face. “We’re getting married. Why would I need to do all of this?”

Quentin tilted his head. “Because she’s your true love?”

“That’s why we’re getting married. And when would I have extra time to plan all of this? I mean…” Julia turned around to see Kady looking disgruntled. “I mean, I would. Of course. You deserve this, but it’s not very practical. And… and we need the money for the down payment and…”

Kady nodded tersely and walked away, leaving Julia staring after her. Julia wasn’t the most romantic, admittedly, but sometimes Quentin thought Kady yearned for it, beneath her badass exterior. As much as Quentin wanted this to be for him—a gift from _his_ true love—he couldn’t help wishing just a little that Julia had done it for Kady.

Then Eliot fell into step with Quentin and slipped his arm around Quentin’s waist companionably. At least, it was companionable if Quentin ignored the fact Eliot was half-dressed and covered in silk.

“Q,” Eliot began quietly. “Why don’t you put that away in the bedroom and come back to the kitchen? Your omelet’s getting cold, and I made you a cappuccino.”

“Yeah.” Quentin couldn’t help feeling a little guilty. He hadn’t meant to turn it around on Julia.

He put his arm around Eliot and then blushed at how close to touching skin he was. And how he wanted to keep touching, but he was in front of his dad and sister and holding a gift from his true love, and probably he should focus on that and not how sexy his best friend was.

“I’ll um… be right back. Jules, take my omelet and cappuccino to Kady at least.”

“I’m not taking her your leftovers, Q. She wouldn’t even be mad if you hadn’t shown up and made it all about you like you do everything.”

“I didn’t— I just thought…” Frustrated, Quentin took off upstairs to his room and set down the gilded cage by the window as if the partridge in the pocket dimension needed a view. He sat on the bed and fingered the card, tracing over the letters, trying not to think about Julia snapping at him.

It was more about the stress of the wedding than him, but it still hurt.

Quentin didn’t know how long he sat there, but eventually a knock at the door startled him into looking up. Eliot stood in the doorway, a faint smile on his lips. He carried a tray with the omelet and cappuccino.

“Hey, Q. Mind if I—”

Quentin shook his head, and Eliot placed the tray on the bureau before sitting on the bed next to him. He put his arm around Quentin’s shoulders like it belonged there and leaned over to kiss his temple. The rasp of his deliberately overgrown stubble made Quentin shiver a little.

“Listen,” Eliot murmured, voice pitched just for Q’s ears. “Julia’s obviously feeling some kind of way about being shown up by your ‘true love’, and she just needs some space. I’m sure things will work out. Throwing a big party is crazy stressful, and if they’re getting married and _moving_ on top of it…”

Which was true enough.

Then Eliot added, “But you didn’t deserve that, okay?”

Before Q could answer, Eliot telekinetically beckoned the cappuccino and placed it into Quentin’s hands. “Drink this. I put a smidge of white chocolate liqueur in it. Just enough to warm you up.”

“She should just do what I do when it comes to big parties: Let you do it.” Quentin sipped his cappuccino and then rested his head on Eliot’s shoulder. It was silly to sit around feeling sorry for himself when he had a true love out there planning magical gifts for him and a best friend making him breakfast.

Quentin held up his hand, and Eliot knew that meant he was ready for breakfast and summoned the plate. “You’re the best, Eliot. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Starve to death, I imagine,” Eliot responded with a smile. “You’re terrible at taking care of yourself. You get in a mood, and then you forget that things like food need to happen.”

Eliot turned his head then, and Quentin followed his gaze to see Kady standing in the doorway watching them. She smiled a little, said, “Thanks, Quentin,” and then disappeared again.

Brows raised, Eliot turned his attention back on Quentin. “I know Julia’s only really competing with the memory of Penny, which…” Eliot shrugged melodramatically, giving Quentin a narrowed gaze that had grown familiar over Quentin’s time dating Penny. “But honestly, look at Kady. She’s magnificent. She definitely deserves a little romance. That _hair_. Day at the spa, at least.”

“If I interfere directly, it’ll just piss Julia off. I wanted to give her money for the down payment as a wedding gift. You know I don’t know what to do with my money and... she just…” Quentin finished his omelet and cappuccino and set them aside. “Sometimes I wonder if she’d be happier if she’d gone to Brakebills with us. She just gets so focused. Anyway. You know what we can do? Outside decorations! I’m going to need your help reaching the tall stuff.”

Which Quentin meant literally, but also Eliot’s telekinetic abilities were very helpful stringing Christmas lights.

“Ah yes, I knew you’d only invited me along because I was tall.” Eliot stood and offered Quentin his hands. “ _Allons, mon petit trésor._ We go forth to conquer.”

As Eliot hauled Quentin off the bed, he seemed belatedly to realize he was mostly naked. “Oh. One moment, please.”

Eliot shut the door with a brief tut and then shed his dressing gown as he dug in Quentin’s closet for something to wear. He’d unpacked all his things in Quentin’s room like he intended just to stay there, because of course he had. Eliot had issues with boundaries, really.

Not that Quentin minded.

“What do you think?” Eliot asked, holding up two similarly stylish looks in front of himself expectantly. “For decorating the cabin, should I go cashmere or vicuña?”

Quentin tried to control the expression on his face in staring at a mostly naked Eliot. He checked his mouth subtly for drool, because that was no way to behave around a coworker. “I don’t know what a vicuña is. Don’t you have a Christmas sweater?”

He gestured to his own mock Fair Isle sweater with reindeer and bells on it. Maybe he’d had it since he was thirteen, maybe not. But it was the sort of thing that didn’t get worn out when there was only one time a year to wear it.

“A—” Eliot blinked as if he thought maybe he hadn’t heard Quentin correctly. “Are you implying you want _me_ , Eliot Waugh, to wear an ugly Christmas sweater? Moreover, you expect me, _Eliot Waugh_ , to own an ugly Christmas sweater?”

“Are you calling my sweater… ugly?” Quentin brought his hand up to his chest and opened his mouth in mock shock. “In my own childhood room? On _Christmas?_ In front of my _partridge?_ ”

Eliot snorted and licked his lips as if he was about to say something devastatingly witty, or at least very naughty. Then he shook his head, said, “Cashmere. I’ll save the vicuña for a special occasion,” and started pulling a pair of cream-colored trousers up his unfairly long legs.

“Oh no, I liked the other one better.” Quentin bit his bottom lip. He was pushing Eliot, but he knew Eliot loved it. Also, the longer he was mostly naked, the better.

“Of course you did,” Eliot responded, tone irritably flat. He began stripping off the trousers, almost taking the boxers with them for a heart-stopping moment, and then neatly hung them back in the closet before fussing over the other, pale golden trousers a moment.

“C’mere,” Eliot said, holding out the fabric. “Touch it. This is the most expensive, rarest wool in the world. It’s also the softest and most luxurious. Also, these are bespoke and enchanted to be sturdy enough to wear for more vigorous activities.”

It was obvious what Eliot was spending his royalty checks on.

“You want me to touch it while it’s not on you? What are you, Scrooge?” Quentin grinned and reached out and touched it. It was, indeed, very soft. “You know what, I think the other ones are better. You should leave these with me.”

Quentin snatched the pants from Eliot’s hands and wrapped his arms around them. Eliot gasped in protest and tackled Quentin back onto the bed, fingers digging into Quentin’s sides and _tickling_. Quentin squealed in protest, gasping for breath as he tried to escape mostly naked Eliot with his hands all over him. Well, sort of tried to escape.

“Fine, fine! Take them!” He shoved the pants back at Eliot, who was crouched atop him suddenly looking very serious. Quentin took a breath and gazed up at him, then parted his lips, leaning in until the door flew open.

“Would you two…” Julia’s eyes widened at them, and she put her hands up. “Just… quiet down. I’m trying to work.”

“Of course. We were just heading outside to decorate, weren’t we, Q?” Eliot gracefully extricated himself from the situation and hung the gold trousers in the closet once again before breaking out the cream pair he’d started off with. In moments, he was dressed head to toe in a suit Quentin assumed wasn’t cream but winter white, worn with a crimson silk dress shirt. Eliot adjusted his emerald green scarf neatly around his neck, one end flung over a broad shoulder, and then stood in front of the bureau mirror to fluff his curls as if Julia wasn’t standing right there.

Quentin had learned to expect as much from Eliot during their time at the Physical Kids’ cottage, but Julia had missed all that communal living. She’d spent her graduate years in Fillory, tutored and pushed to her limits, her full potential as a Knowledge student tested. No wonder she was a little edgy.

“Jules.” Kady’s voice came from down the hall.

Then Kady was there, arm insinuating itself around Julia’s slim waist, and Kady leaned her head on Julia’s shoulder, the mass of her dark curls cascading everywhere. “Hey,” she murmured, soothing, “let’s give them some space. I finished the paperwork for you. Are you ready to finalize the seating chart?”

Ugh. Seating charts. Quentin couldn’t help a pang of sympathy. No wonder Julia was cranky.

Eliot turned from the mirror and beamed at them. “There’s a spell for that. Beeman’s Social Organization. It’s usually used for big events like conferences, but I use it for sit-down dinners too. If you want, I could show you how it’s done…”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll do it. There are some situations I need to manage, but thanks. It’s a lot easier to do now that we don’t have to work around Penny anyway.” Julia gave Quentin an apologetic look and then turned to Eliot. “Thank you, though. If I’m still struggling when you guys are done outside, maybe you can have a look at it. Those are nice pants.”

Julia looked at Quentin and frowned, giving him an almost pitying look. “Sorry, Q. I shouldn’t have interrupted.”

“We were just goofing around.” Quentin had grabbed a pillow from the bed to hide his erection as he sat up.

Julia smirked and averted her gaze. “Yeah. Sorry again. I’m going to go back under my bridge now. Maybe Kady and I can goof around a little ourselves.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Kady almost purred, kissing Julia’s cheek and then dragging her away. It was good to see them at ease with one another. Kady was a good influence on Julia, even if Julia was a little too uptight to really enjoy the day.

When they’d departed, Eliot cocked his head to the side and looked at Quentin. His outfit had seemed untouchably chic on the hanger, but the way he’d accessorized it, he just looked Festive Luxe, every bit as Christmas-y as Quentin’s holiday sweater. It was like he understood how much this time of year meant to Quentin, but he had to do it his own way.

“You need a minute, Q? Shall I head down without you?” Eliot asked as he produced his flask from his coat. Quentin hadn’t even seen him stash it there. Where had it come from?

“No, it’s fine. I mean, I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” Quentin stood, still holding the pillow, and then shifted behind it so that everything was properly arranged before he dropped it. “Let’s go make some Christmas magic!”


	3. Chapter 3

Everything was _not_ fine. Eliot could tell. Quentin was obsessing over this whole romantic gesture situation, which Eliot had expected, but Quentin hadn’t seemed at all to put two and two together. That was shocking, honestly, because Q was very good at math. Also not at all shocking, because Q was oblivious. That was the only explanation for why he’d blown off all Eliot’s determined flirting for years before dating fucking Penny.

Right? Because he’d _almost_ kissed Eliot before Julia stormed in. So it wasn’t like Eliot was just some hideous mountain troll in Prada that Quentin couldn’t bring himself to look at. There was _something_ there.

Of course, there _had_ been substantial liqueur in Quentin’s cappuccino. Ugh.

That had been a tactical error. Quentin couldn’t handle his alcohol.

“Q, do you want multicolor or white lights on the eaves?” Eliot called down as he stood at the top of the ladder inspecting the situation. A host of evenly spaced hooks embedded into the wood suggested that in other years, this house was accustomed to being festooned with lights as early as the day after Thanksgiving.

“Multicolor, of course!”

Of course. Because while Quentin could brood and sulk as much as anyone Eliot had ever met, when Quentin was happy and energetic, he wanted rainbows and romance. It often felt a little put on. Maybe a lot put on, as Quentin sometimes did to get himself out of his head.

Christmas just seemed like a convenient excuse. Eliot could tell that Quentin was sad in those quiet moments when he sat frowning at a tangle of lights before he got it together and cast a spell to untangle them.

“Plain white lights are for basic bitches who don’t know how to work with color,” Quentin shouted as if that made any sense. He was smiling again, though, so Eliot wasn’t going to argue.

“Obviously,” Eliot replied, though he himself enjoyed the purity and elegance of a strand of classic white lights. He began stringing the lights carefully, employing his telekinesis as much as his lengthy reach to thread the strand artfully through all the hooks. It was colder up by the roof than down on the ground, with a steady, icy breeze that threatened to cut right through Eliot’s suit, but it seemed like a bad idea to sip some more warming scotch while atop a high ladder.

They moved along in tandem, Quentin helping Eliot adjust the ladder’s position as they trekked methodically around the house, outlining the aesthetically pleasing lines of the tin-roofed log cabin with bright color. Overhead, clouds laden with snow sagged across the brilliant blue sky, threatening to burst at any moment. Eliot gestured at them as he finally secured the last string of lights.

“Looks like we’re due for a storm. Good thing we finished when we did.” After descending the ladder for hopefully the last time, Eliot moved to Quentin’s side and pointed at the end of the string. “Light ‘er up.”

Quentin plugged in the lights, and the house lit up under the growing gloom. It was, Eliot had to admit, pretty cute in a multicolored way.

They’d put up the wreath, which filled the air with the smell of Christmas and the memory of Alice. The town was swarming with exes, so maybe Quentin could be forgiven for not doing simple math. Sort of.

“Think we can get some lawn decorations out before it starts storming?” Quentin had tucked his hair back at some point, but along the way between the wind and probably his fiddling with it, strands had come undone and brushed over his windburned cheeks. “We have these light-up reindeer sculptures that scamper, and it’s really cute. Though, one year I enchanted them to um… let nature take its course, and Julia laughed so hard cocoa came out of her nose.”

“Oh my god, Q… Are you telling me that you hosted a light-up reindeer sculpture fuck party on Dean Fogg’s front lawn?” Eliot curled his fingers into his scarf at his throat and gaped at Quentin in unadulterated delight.

“I did.” Quentin laughed and touched Eliot’s arm. “I’d do it again, but I’m not sure if Julia would find it as funny right now. You know, back before they split us up…”

Pain flashed over Quentin’s face, and Eliot remembered the sad, lost boy who first showed up at the Physical Kids cottage. Up until then, they’d been the twins, and to hear Quentin talk about it, they’d rarely been apart in any meaningful way. Then their disciplines manifested with Julia’s being so big and Quentin’s being, well, minor mending.

“Anyway, even when it’s not a deer light orgy, they’re pretty fun to watch.”

“I think I’d prefer to watch the orgy, all things being equal, but I’d hate to further upset your sister if she just really begrudges Rudolph his holiday swerve.” Eliot bumped his shoulder against Quentin’s in a friendly manner and then leaned over to kiss his unruly hair. “Let’s see if we can beat the snow.”

“Maybe we can time it so that it happens when she’s in a mood to appreciate it. And if not, well, we’ll wait until she’s asleep. But I know she can use the laugh. At the right time.” Quentin leaned into the affection briefly, but then he sprang away as he almost always did and ran inside.

When he returned, he was followed by a small herd of enchanted yard animals. He was holding what looked to be a light-up lamb that was nuzzling him. “I don’t know why we ever put them away.”

“Cranky Homeowners’ Association?” Eliot guessed, reaching out to stroke the lamb’s glowing head. “These are remarkably cute, Q. We never…” He trailed off, not wanting to talk about where he came from or their decided lack of magic. “This is amazing.”

To avoid bogging down in serious conversation, Eliot took off across the snowy lawn at a lope, grateful for his tall snow boots. “Come along, little animals! Come to Eliot!”

“Oh, El, be careful! They get…”

Before Quentin could finish, something tackled Eliot from behind, pranced on his back, and then took off to chase around with the other animals.

Quentin ran over to Eliot and offered his hand. “They get a little rambunctious after being cooped up all year. Dad always has to usher them back. I’ve never had the heart.”

“Oof.” Eliot rolled over onto his back in the snow and blinked up at Quentin, a little dazed. “That’ll teach me to cavort recklessly with light-up animal sculptures.”

He took Quentin’s hand and let Quentin help him to his feet. Then he grumbled as he tried to examine the damage to his couture. “Are there hoofmarks on my back, Q? Tell me honestly. Does it look like grandpa got run over by a reindeer?”

“Maybe a little. With this snow in your hair.” Quentin got on his toes to brush the flakes off Eliot’s hair and then gently traced his eyebrow. The way he gazed at Eliot seemed like Q was building to something until another reindeer sculpture knocked Quentin’s legs out from under him. “There used to be a nativity, but I feel like the reasons why that didn’t work out are pretty obvious.”

“You mean besides the fact we’re at the epicenter of Persephone worship?” Eliot teased as he helped Quentin regain his balance. He settled his hands at either side of Quentin’s waist and gazed down at him as the snow began to fall.

“I never thought about that, but maybe that was part of it.” Quentin gazed up at him again, face so relaxed. “We had the Nativity first. It was a gift, I think. Just a regular contraption. Mary, Joseph, Jesus in their usual spots. Three kings who were slowly moved closer and closer as Christmas approached. They didn’t do much, just turned their heads, waved their arms a little. Pretty standard fare.”

Quentin bit his lip and averted his gaze. “But you know, you want animals with the nativity. They’re in a stable. It’s a whole thing. So we went to the Our Lady Underground Church Fair, and Julia and I just… fell in love with the animated sculptures.”

The lamb had returned from scampering and kept nuzzling Quentin’s hand. It wasn’t hard to imagine him loving the weird little creatures.

“We brought them home and let them loose and…” Quentin looked up at the sky. Snowflakes fell gently on his sweet face. “It was absolute chaos. Mary grabbed Jesus from the manger and started to run with Joseph behind her. The three kings fought valiantly against the onslaught of the reindeer but were ultimately trampled before they made it to the treeline.”

Quentin gazed off into the distance where the trees started. “They say that sometimes, late at night or early in the morning, you can still find light-up Mary tending baby light-up Jesus by the creek.”

“Wow.” Eliot blinked as he processed all that before teasing, “There’s a creek?”

“Yeah, back behind the treeline. It’s not really much more than a trickle, but it’s enough to keep the wildlife—you know, the _actual_ wildlife—thriving. There’s a perimeter limit on these guys so they don’t interfere.” Quentin took a deep breath and then beamed up at Eliot. “Guess I’ll have to figure out how to alter the enchantment so that gifts from my _true love_ can make it through. I’d hate to miss any.”

“That would certainly be a tragedy,” Eliot agreed, flexing his hands on Quentin’s waist as snow melted on their faces. “Can you just imagine the horror if this is all leading up to something big but you never find out because your beloved-but-troubled light-up reindeer sculpture attacked the delivery person?”

“Then I might never know who my true love is. I’ll grow old and die alone.” Quentin moved in a little closer. “I mean, unless someone wants to tell me now. Who do you think my true love is, El?”

Heart pounding, Eliot licked his lips and considered his options. Quentin had always wanted a big, romantic gesture, and if Eliot spoiled the surprise now…

“Guess we’ll have to wait and find out,” he said, proud of how even his voice sounded. “Whoever it is, they know you’re here… A random admirer wouldn’t have known your dad’s address or to arrange for delivery all the way in Fillory. They’d have sent it to your place in the city, right?”

“Yeah. That’s true.” Some of the warmth vanished from Quentin’s eyes, replaced with that wrinkle between his brows and confusion. “I mean, yeah. I guess that narrows it down.”

He frowned and averted his gaze as he released Eliot and gave a self-deprecating laugh. “As much as it can narrow it down in a town full of exes who know I grew up here, I guess. Getting cold out here. We should go in.”

“Yeah, let’s get inside and eat some of those Christmas cookies you baked.” Eliot ruffled Quentin’s hair affectionately, thinking that soon Q would know everything, and it would all be just perfect. Eliot wasn’t going to fuck it up this time.

This was too important.

~*~

Quentin had begged off to go to bed early the night before, which had been fine since they had really exerted themselves putting up the lights. Really, Quentin had just needed some time to nurse his broken heart. He’d been so sure Eliot would be his true love. He hadn’t even questioned it that afternoon, but then Eliot denied it and Quentin was devastated.

But, as he’d sulked under the blankets listening to everyone else carry on merry conversation, he realized that he was greedy and more than a little crazy. Eliot was way out of his league. Always had been.

He’d thought a few times that they almost had a moment. Last year, he’d overheard Eliot talking to his friends about how straight boys were terrible in relationships, and he’d wondered if maybe Eliot saw him as straight. Dating Penny to prove he wasn’t was probably a strange choice, but there really _had_ been something between them.

It wasn’t much, but they’d had fun. Quentin knew the family trip and the wedding was too much, though; he couldn’t believe Penny had even agreed to it in the first place.

Maybe he meant more to Penny than he’d thought.

That was something at least.

Dragging himself out of bed, Quentin showered, put on a new Christmas sweater, and promised himself to be the supportive friend to Eliot that Eliot was to him. Then Quentin would open his heart to whoever was going to all this trouble to sweep him off his feet.

That had to be something, right?

This morning, Julia was already awake and had brewed the coffee. She’d also helped herself to some of Quentin’s cookies, which made him smile.

“Good morning!” he said, putting on cheer.

“Hey! I can’t believe you let the beasts loose. You should’ve heard the stream of expletives Dad let out when he saw them.” Julia covered her mouth as she laughed and then sipped more coffee.

“Not hard to imagine. I get that reaction from him regularly.” Quentin brushed past her to pour himself some coffee.

“You do. You’re such a mess. I love you, Q. I’m glad you’re here.” Julia set down her coffee and sprung a surprise hug on Quentin, who grinned and hugged her back.

“I’m glad, too. And hey, Christmas wedding, that’s really romantic, isn’t it?”

“Eh.” Julia released him and picked her coffee back up. “Practical. Easy to lure people to Fillory for. Everyone’s already kind of here and makes gifting easy.”

“Yeah, okay. So when do I get to see your gown? Or is Kady wearing the gown? Two gowns?”

“I have a _dress_ , Quentin. More of a suit dress, something I can wear to work, too.”

“What?” Quentin tilted his head. “For your _wedding_?”

“It’s just one day. The important thing is that I will be married to Kady, not the gown or the rest of it. And like I said, we’re just starting out. We had to have money for the—”

“Jules, I’ll give you money. I don’t even know what to do with what I have.”

“I know you would, Q, but I want to do this myself with Kady. I need to know that I can do these things, and I want to be independent. So thank you, Q, but no.” She put her hand on his shoulder, and Quentin sighed.

“What good is money if you can’t spoil your sister?” Quentin pouted, but he knew she was stubborn. “As long as you know I love you.”

“I know that. Sometimes I wish you loved me less and would back off!” Julia playfully strangled Quentin, and he laughed.

Then the bell rang.

Quentin sang, “On the second day of Christmas…” as he turned to scamper to the door.

Julia was hot on his heels, singing in fake baritone, “My true love gave to meeeee!”

Again today as yesterday, a festive-liveried gentleman and a 19th century-clad lady stood on the stoop. Morning sunlight reflected off yesterday’s fresh snow drifts behind them, illuminating everything like in a dream.

The lady opened her mouth and sang, “ _On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…two turtledoves, and a partridge in a pear tree.”_

As she sang, the gentleman extended another gilded cage tied with a red velvet ribbon, but this one was vaguely Roman in style, its bars more like Corinthian columns, ornate and beautiful. Once more, the cage door opened and expanded, big enough for Quentin to walk through. Inside was another pocket dimension, but this one was nothing like the last.

Quentin turned his head as Julia followed him inside. She smiled and reached for his hand, holding it as she craned her neck to take in the beautiful, small, white temple sitting atop a little hill in front of them. It was springtime here, the air rich with the scent of the blooming flowers growing around the perimeter. Steps were carved into the hill’s sharp incline, white stone against the green grass, and Julia tugged Quentin forward as she headed for the little temple.

“This is like a shrine,” Julia said as they ascended, looking around with curiosity. “Roman, definitely. Look at the engravings.” She pointed to the archway overhead that bore the words _bona fides_. Good faith, in Latin. Quentin could’ve figured that much out himself, if he’d pulled his head together to do it.

Then Julia was pulling him forward again, and the soft purr of birds reached Quentin’s ears. _Turr turr turr._ As they stepped into the circular shrine, Quentin saw a gorgeous pair of elegant birds cuddled up together atop a carved marble altar. Gleaming bronze tables stood at either side of the altar, each one covered in what appeared to be legal documents.

“Shrine to Fides, the goddess of Faith and Kept Promises,” Julia intoned reverently.

Quentin had known Julia studied the different pantheons obsessively—she’d spent a _lot_ of time in the library at the Church of OLU—but he somehow was still surprised when she recognized a goddess Quentin hadn’t heard of. “Kept promises?”

“Like marriage vows.” Julia smiled a little at Quentin, her eyes bright. “Fides sounds a lot like fidelity, doesn’t she? And turtledoves are her symbol. They form bonded pairs and rarely mate outside them.” She gestured to the cuddly, cooing birds. “A mated pair. It’s a symbol. A message from your ‘one true love’.”

Even Julia seemed a little affected by that before she remembered herself and shut it down.

“I don’t know how well my one true love really knows me if he or she thinks I haven’t mated outside of our… thing…” Quentin gave another self-deprecating laugh. Bonded birds, marriage? That sounded less like Eliot than the previous one, though the aesthetics were definitely El. “Hey, you should bring Kady in here. It’s romantic and… and I’ve probably got ten more days before I know who sent this to me.”

“As if it’s not Eliot, Q. Honestly.” Julia bumped his shoulder.

“He said it wasn’t.”

Her eyes widened, and then she pulled Quentin in for a hug as if she knew how that had gutted him. “Oh, Q, I’m sorry. Wow. Well, someone does seem to really want to sweep you off your feet. So there’s that, right?”

“Yeah. I mean, yeah. It’s good. Better, even. We won’t mess up our friendship.” Quentin stepped back and looked down into her eyes where she at least attempted to shield her pitying gaze.

“Totally. I mean, Eliot… he’s nice, he’s great. But he’s not really… someone who settles down.”

“Right.” Quentin took a deep breath and then turned to stroke the birds as emotions threatened to overwhelm him. “So, yeah. Ten days, I guess.”

“Or… we could see… you know, try to figure out who is sending this beforehand? Could be romantic if you surprise them back? Give you something to think about? I bet Eliot would help.”

“Yeah. I guess. I mean, how many people can produce turtledoves? That could be a clue.” Quentin tried to muster excitement for the prospect, and really, it wasn’t that difficult. Quentin did enjoy a mystery.

Julia grabbed Quentin’s hand and pulled him back out of the cage. The people who delivered the item were gone already, but Kady was waiting for them when they emerged. She raised a brow at Julia and then smiled at Quentin.

“That’s fancy,” she observed quietly, giving Quentin a nudge with her foot. “ _Someone_ really likes you, Quentin.”

“Yeah. If I only knew who.” Quentin released Julia’s hand, and she bounded to Kady and gave her a quick kiss. It was sweet to see even if it made Quentin feel extra bonus alone at the moment. “Hey, Kady, you’re still a private investigator, right?”

“Yes, I am, a very good one, and no, before you ask, I can’t take this case.” Kady snuggled Julia, somehow managing to look badass and tough even with Julia’s arms wrapped around her. “But you’re smart, Q. I mean, for a value of the word.” Kady grinned to soften the blow, her tone teasing. “Just figure it out yourself. You were on the right track…”

Then Kady took Julia’s hand and started to drag her toward the kitchen. “Come eat breakfast with me, wife-to-be.” Looking back over her shoulder, Kady added, “And you should check on Eliot. He really overdid it last night.”

“How could you tell?” Quentin huffed and folded his arms.

He was on the right track? What did that mean? He’d thought it was Eliot, and it was not. Probably none of Eliot’s friends either because, well, he didn’t really have that many friends outside of Quentin, just people he had benefits with or something.

She probably didn’t even hear his question or just figured it was rhetorical.

Hiring a private investigator to figure out his secret admirer was probably overkill anyway. Quentin grabbed the cage, took it up to his room, and set it down gently. Eliot’s clothes were still in his closet even though Eliot had opted to sleep in his own room the night before.

Quentin figured it was because he kept making things awkward all day. God, he’d almost kissed Eliot like three times, and how terrible would that have been? For Eliot, of course. Quentin wouldn’t have minded other than the possible destruction of their friendship and probably business relationship, and he really was being crazy.

He went into Eliot’s room and sat on the side of the bed. He was tempted to be evil and yell to wake Eliot up, but it wasn’t Eliot’s fault he didn’t feel the same way about Quentin. He needed to focus on the good things and how much of Eliot he had in his life as it was and continue to try to find love.

“Hey. You gonna get up, sleepyhead? Want me to get you some coffee?”

Eliot groaned and hid under the pillow. “You left me with your _dad_.” Which, technically, Quentin hadn’t _intended_ to do. It had been a side effect of Quentin going to bed early. “You went to bed without me, and I drank too much to try to cope, and I was _horrible_ and kept making cocktails because I thought eventually you’d come back down, but you didn’t, and…”

At least, that was what Quentin _thought_ Eliot was saying. It was a bit muffled by the pillow.

“You could’ve excused yourself and come to bed early.” Quentin crawled up to the head of the bed and shifted around until Eliot’s head was in his lap. He wanted to be annoyed with Eliot for not being his true love, but he couldn’t really stay mad at him.

Putting his hands under the pillow and on Eliot’s temples, he massaged gently. “Poor El. I know, I’m so mean. I got another present already. You missed it.”

“Aww fuck.” Eliot nosed closer to Quentin, burying his face against Quentin’s stomach, and extended his arms to hug Quentin around the hips. “Was it good? Who told these assholes to show up so early in the morning anyway?”

Groaning again, Eliot stretched, long body shifting under the rumpled white sheet in a way that suggested he wasn’t wearing anything under it.

Quentin just _had_ to put Eliot’s head in his lap, didn’t he? All the shifting made Quentin uncomfortable, and he tried not to think too much about what was going on or not going on under the sheet.

“My one true love, apparently,” Quentin said wanly. He pulled the pillow off Eliot’s face and smiled down at him. “Yeah, it was really good. Turtledoves. Very Roman. Julia went in with me and said it was all about fidelity and romance. Maybe even marriage. Add early riser to the list… it’s definitely not you, huh?”

“Why? Did you _want_ me to be your one true love?” Eliot rolled over, gazing up at Quentin, his curly hair a mess across Quentin’s thigh. Eliot’s deep hazel eyes were ringed with dark, puffy circles, and he looked hungover and exhausted, but he was still the best thing Quentin had ever seen.

Eliot lifted his hand to cradle Quentin’s cheek and smiled at him just a little. “Besides, you don’t know _how_ I feel about marriage. We’ve never discussed it.”

Quentin stared down at Eliot, wanting his true love to be Eliot so badly that it was like a physical pain in his chest. But Eliot was probably still drunk and fucking around.

“I’ve heard you talking about it with your friends. Heteronormative and useless. Boring. A trap.”

He rubbed the spot right above Eliot’s eyebrows where his eyestrain usually bothered him the most, hoping to make him feel a little better. “Stop teasing me or you’re going to break my heart for real, El. We need to figure out who’s sending me these gifts. Kady’s already turned down the job.”

“Oh like I even could.” Eliot rolled his eyes, obviously unaware of his effect on Quentin, and sighed huffily as if the very idea had put him in a foul mood.

He sat up, and the sheet dragged with him as he swung his long legs over the side of the bed facing away from Quentin. His bare back shone pale in the dim winter sunlight filtering through the curtains, and before Quentin could entirely stop himself, he noted that Eliot was, indeed, wearing no boxers.

Then Eliot stood, wrapped the sheet around him like a toga—which he somehow managed to pull off, despite the ridiculousness—and proceeded into the hall and across to Quentin’s room. When Quentin didn’t immediately follow, Eliot backtracked, face set in grumpy lines, and said, “C’mon, Q. Let’s go figure out who’s sending you these gifts.”

Quentin followed, feeling like he’d failed somehow. He ran down the stairs quickly to get Eliot a cup of coffee and returned before Eliot was likely to notice he’d even been gone.

“I was thinking we could go into town, maybe see if there’s anywhere that might carry turtledoves or do this sort of pocket dimension magic. I know that’s more popular in the city, but this is a magical community, and the work seems pretty tight. Or, you know, like you said, it’s someone who would know I was here. And… Penny would know I was here… Do you think… you know, it would’ve been awkward with the wedding and everything, maybe he thought… he could do a grand gesture instead?”

Eliot was still getting dressed and grunted noncommittally as he pulled a pair of honest to god suspenders over his grey paisley dress shirt. “You certainly _deserve_ a grand gesture after he dumped you on your five-month anniversary, two weeks before your sister’s wedding, leaving you without a date.”

“Yeah, well, my sister is marrying his ex, so… it _was_ pretty awkward. And you know I can be kind of… intense about signs and shows of affection.” Quentin leaned against the wall next to the closet and held up the cup of coffee for Eliot. “I made mistakes around the whole thing, too. I’d never dated another guy before. You know, maybe the whole heteronormative thing was much. Though he hadn’t dated many guys either.”

“Shocking, really.” Eliot accepted the coffee and drank it in slow, measured sips like it would ward away the hangover. “Do you _want_ it to be Penny?”

Quentin’s ambivalence threatened to overwhelm him into a very obvious shrug. “I mean, he’s hot. And a traveler, that’s nice. No long drives unless we just want to.”

Of course, Penny’s mind reading had led to some uncomfortable conversations even before their inevitable breakup, which he didn’t really want to admit to Eliot. “I mean, up until a few days ago we were together. Is it really so crazy?”

“No, it’s…surprisingly rational.” Eliot pulled a face like he didn’t want to admit that and then finished his coffee before handing the cup back to Quentin. Then Eliot pulled on a deep blue vest that picked up the colors of the paisley shirt and folded a golden-brown camel coat over his arm. “All set. Shall we go into town? Once we get that out of the way, maybe we can actually focus on work.” Eliot paused, staring at Quentin. “You know, the _reason_ you invited me here.”

“Yeah.” Quentin felt weirdly put on the spot. It wasn’t usually Eliot demanding they get serious and go to work. “I mean, town is fun, too! You haven’t been to downtown Fillory. We can get breakfast there, I can show you my favorite bookstore, and there’s a toy store there—not what you’re hoping, it’s for kids—but probably a store for that, too.”

“If you’re suggesting we go to a magic sex toy shop together, I’m in.” Eliot raised a brow and motioned for Quentin to precede him out of the room. “Give me the tour then. I’m all yours.”

~*~

Eliot couldn’t make heads or tails of Quentin lately. As they sat together at a table for two in a little diner downtown, Eliot sipped yet more coffee and tried to make his hungover brain process the data. He’d always been more intuitive than analytical, but Quentin was defying all his expectations.

For breakfast, Eliot had ordered a gigantic cinnamon roll covered in cream cheese icing, which he was daintily picking apart with his fingers as he looked out the plate glass window onto the bustling sidewalk. Fillorians wearing puffy coats strode past carrying gift-wrapped boxes and shopping bags.

“So the turtledoves are key, you think?” Eliot mused without looking at Quentin directly. He watched his reflection in the window instead, trying to affect a casual attitude.

“I don’t know. Maybe. Pocket dimensions are also pretty specific magic. There’s definitely a pet store here. I don’t know of any… You know, dimensional work is usually privately contracted with a master magician. Which, around here you can throw a rock and find one of those.” Quentin had eaten gingerbread pancakes and was now nibbling on a fruit cup that came with it. “The dimensional thing kind of leads me back to Penny, though if he’s a master magician he sure didn’t tell me. And I’m pretty sure he would’ve told me a thousand times.”

Sometimes, the way Quentin spoke about Penny gave Eliot the feeling he didn’t really like Penny that much. As if the enemies-to-lovers trope really only went so deep, and Eliot was definitely not going to think any further on how deep into Quentin Penny probably got.

More than once Eliot had had to ask Quentin to stop talking about the sex he was having. He’d seemed possessed to tell Eliot everything about it, which had been… a nice visual honestly, but also highly unpleasant.

“So you’re looking for a candidate who’s an early riser, knows you’re here, and is either a master magician or can afford to commission a master magician to create pocket dimensions as a gift.” Eliot wiped his sticky fingertips on his napkin and then rubbed at his temples as his headache deepened. “Oh,” he added, looking Quentin in the eye, “And he—or she—is marriage minded. That really should narrow it down.”

Or just confuse the situation further. Quentin seemed to have rapidly discounted the possibility it could be Eliot, which… Eliot hadn’t _wanted_ Quentin to solve it immediately, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about fucking Penny getting the credit either.

“He _could_ command a pretty good amount for traveling, though I never really talked about his finances much. But theoretically, I guess he could afford it. Early riser… Eh, I mean, he never had any problems rising any time he wanted to, I’ll say that much.” Quentin smirked as if he was cute, and Eliot kind of wanted to throttle him for a hot second. “Marriage minded… that does _not_ seem very on brand. But I don’t know. I mean, he did say this was his second longest relationship. I did really believe he was going to come here… right up until it was obvious he wasn’t.”

“Right.” Eliot popped a tattered piece of cinnamon roll into his mouth and chewed it in annoyance, venting his emotions into obliterating the doughy goodness. He swallowed and then sighed, studying Quentin for a moment before tossing a gooey chunk of breakfast baked good right at Quentin’s stupidly adorable face.

“Hey!” Quentin huffed as he wiped the cream off his face. He picked up the piece that had dropped in his lap and ate it because sometimes Quentin acted so straight. But at least it wasn’t off the floor. “Pretty good. Okay, is this your way of saying you want to hit the sex shop? If there is one, which, I don’t think there is, but we can look?”

Laughing despite himself, Eliot caught the waiter’s attention, asked for a to-go box, and let Quentin pay the check. Then Eliot shrugged back into his coat and helped Quentin into his before motioning for him to lead the way. Quentin drove the rental car down the crowded downtown streets, peering at every storefront as if any one of them might be secretly sexy.

With Quentin distracted looking for a Fillorian sex shop, it was easier to think critically about the situation. Priority one was keeping Quentin away from Penny. Eliot just couldn’t go back to hearing about Penny’s psychic dick.

Then Eliot spotted Alice waiting to cross the street wearing the raiment of a priestess of Persephone. He’d thought she was flirting with Quentin, but maybe a bosom that magnificent did the flirting all on its own? Eliot didn’t have one, so he didn’t really know, but his cock was pretty magnificent and it did its own thing, so maybe?

But if Alice was a high priestess of OLU, she would never marry, and she wouldn’t have casual sex with her ex. Her romantic future would consist of ceremonial sex at high holy days and whatever the goddess demanded, but she was—if she was still the rules lawyer Eliot had known and kind of liked, sort of, when Quentin wasn’t ignoring him for her—not a threat to Eliot’s plans for Quentin. In fact, she might be the solution to this problem.

“You know,” Eliot said when Alice was out of sight behind them, “if any one of your exes might be a master magician now… It’s Alice Quinn.”

Quentin hit the brakes so hard the tires screeched and the car behind him honked. He stared at Eliot as if he was thunderstruck. Eliot could see the thoughts processing over his face.

“Oh my god, you’re right. She could be. I mean… maybe. But she was flirting with me. She knows I’m home. Eliot, you’re a fucking _genius._ ”

Before Quentin could focus on the road again, Poppy was at the window. “Hey, you can’t just stop in the middle of the road for no reason.”

Ugh, Poppy. But at least she was a distraction, so Quentin didn’t immediately see Alice walking down the street.

“Sorry, Poppy. I was just looking for a shop. I thought I saw it.”

“Oh yeah? What are you shopping for, Q-t-pie?” She grinned and waggled her brows, and Eliot started to wonder if she’d been following them.

“Um. Sex toys?”

Poppy leaned in and looked at Eliot and then at Quentin. “You boys having a problem in that area? You sure didn’t have that problem before, Quentin.”

Quentin was very still and clearly uncomfortable. “I was a lot younger?”

She laughed and squeezed his cheek. “You got kinky. I like it. There’s no sex toy shop, sorry. You’ll have to head back to Muggletown for those, my turtledoves.”

Of all the phrases.

Quentin paled and then looked at Eliot and then back at Poppy. “Um, yeah. Well, I’ll see you around, Poppy.”

“You’ll see me real soon.”

Quentin just stared.

“Your sister’s wedding, remember? Oh, is that what… Yeah. I get ya. Would be a good wedding present. You’re always thinking, Q. Love that about you. But you need to get out of the middle of the street.” Poppy tapped the top of the car a couple of times, and Quentin drove to the next stop sign.

“Turtledove,” Quentin said, turning to Eliot with his brows up. “You think…?”

“Oh Christ.” Eliot closed his eyes and exhaled heavily. Of all the fucking… “More or less likely than Alice, though?”

“Likely? I don’t know. But I really hope it isn’t Poppy. She’s kind of… legitimately evil. Or at least she was. Marriage minded? I don’t think so. Early riser? No. Romantic? Not when I knew her. You know one time she— Okay, more than once, speaking of sex toys, she had me… There was a giant dragon phallus involved, and this was _after_ she got fired by Hudson River dragon, so I can’t help but think it was accurate even though Hudson’s a she but… and… do _not_ laugh at me. She was my first girlfriend.”

Quentin started driving again, steering them out of town back toward the ranch. “I drew the line at dragon wings. Okay, I didn’t draw the line so much as Dad kicked her out. But then Mayor Ember hired her to shepherd out non-magic folk who somehow wandered into town. I don’t know when she decided that made her a sheriff.”

“Ah.” Eliot didn’t know what else to say to that, given Quentin had demanded he not laugh. He considered his options and then said, “Have we finished our tour of Fillory then?” He pointed to the narrow road ahead, leading away from town. “We didn’t even visit the pet store.”

Not that it mattered. It wasn’t like they’d discover anything there. And her holiness Alice Quinn was Eliot’s best shot at a distraction.

“Yeah, I know. But they’re kind of… pocket dimension birds, right? So not really literal birds. Anyway, we’ll be back for the Christmas festival. It’s so beautiful all lit up and decorated. They block off all the streets, so you just walk through, and they set up rides and there’s dancing. If I were Julia, I would’ve arranged to have my wedding in the middle of that.” Quentin turned down another road, taking them back. “But then, she probably doesn’t want jugglers and fire eaters at her wedding.”

Eliot chuckled. “Sounds like my kind of good time,” he murmured, eyeing Quentin from the corner of his eye. “I never pictured you wanting a carnival of a wedding.”

Of course, Quentin was nothing if not marriage-minded, but Eliot had always evaded such discussions as much as possible. It was uncomfortable for him. He didn’t especially long to be married, except that it seemed inevitable _Quentin_ would get married, and Eliot couldn’t tolerate Quentin marrying anyone but him.

“Doesn’t it? Oh, I hope Fen is there. She’s not magical, but her family predates Fillory. Her dad’s a knifemaker, and she juggles knives and swallows swords. I don’t know. I just think it would be fun. You know, a nighttime wedding, torches all around, floating candles. Say your vows, ride a rollercoaster. Shout your love from the top of a Ferris wheel. I dunno. Seems romantic and different and fun.”

As much as Eliot didn’t want to be sucked in by Quentin’s description of a perfect wedding, he kind of couldn’t help himself. It _did_ sound amazing. What would it be like to marry Quentin at a festival like that? To have an enormous magical party to celebrate the two of them? It appealed strongly to Eliot’s love of drama, and he couldn’t deny that—if he and Quentin were actually in love—declaring their love in such a way appealed.

Nodding as he gazed out the window on the snowy landscape, Eliot sighed. His stomach churned with hopeful anticipation. Just a few more days of gifts, and then Quentin would realize Eliot was capable of all the things Quentin wanted in a partner.

“That would be all right,” he conceded quietly, turning his head to smile at Q. “You know I love a theme party.”

“Yeah. All I need is the perfect partner.” Quentin glanced at Eliot with a wistful look before he turned down the long driveway to the house. “Julia wants something more conventional, and I get it, I guess. I just think taking the plunge to spend the rest of your life with someone should be a big celebration, an adventure. I want the whimsy and the magic. Guess that’s why these gifts are so perfect.”

“You deserve it, Q,” Eliot said, feeling it in his bones. “I can’t think of anyone else who loves magic the way you do.” Suppressing a sigh, Eliot ran a hand through his hair, the urge to confess on the tip of his tongue.

“No?” Quentin slowed the car down as if he wanted to delay their arrival back to the house. He turned to Eliot and bit his lip. “You know, El, I think that—”

There was a loud whomp as something struck the hood of the car. Quentin slammed on the brakes. They slid and skidded on the icy driveway. Quentin steered into the spin while a very excited light-up reindeer pranced around in what looked like a victory dance.

Quentin laughed and rubbed his forehead once the car was back under control. “Okay, now I officially need a drink.”

Eliot nodded mutely as he clutched his scarf. “Me too, Q. Me too.” He glanced at the clock on the dash to find it was only 10 a.m. and then brightened as he looked to Quentin.

“Cranberry mimosas! Oh, I love day drinking.”


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, Quentin awoke face-first on his bed, Eliot next to him, also fully dressed and face-first, his arm around Quentin’s waist.

While day drinking had happened, it had inspired a very vigorous work session that had gone late into the night. Working with Eliot was, to Quentin, probably the most intimate he’d ever been with anyone. Technically, Quentin could write alone, and Eliot could draw just about anywhere, but their collaboration pushed them both to the maximum of their creativity. When things were clicking, they fed off each other and lost track of time.

Which had happened.

One minute they were eating lunch, the next Dad brought them dinner. In a blink, the sun was rising, and they’d agreed to a nap.

The doorbell rang, and Quentin tried to burrow under Eliot’s arm. Then he remembered where he was and _why_ someone was showing up first thing in the morning. Quentin jumped up and ran to the window, seeing the plain white van. This time he took note of the license plate number and then sped down the stairs where Julia and Kady were waiting.

“I was starting to wonder if you were going to answer,” Julia said, grinning. “We were trying to decide if we should just put them out of their misery at least.”

“You could’ve woken me.” Quentin tried to catch his breath.

“The door was shut, and Eliot wasn’t in his room, and I did not want to know what I would be walking in on.”

Quentin’s face flushed, and he huffed. “We were just working! Look, I’m totally clothed and… _Eliot!_ ” Quentin shouted, not sure if he’d gotten the message to come down.

The doorbell rang again.

“Mngh,” Eliot called incoherently from the top of the stairs, descending slowly with his curly hair a mussed halo around his face. He gestured for Quentin to open the door.

“Go on, Quentin!” Kady seemed reluctantly excited, her arm around Julia as they waited and watched.

“Here we go!” Quentin felt a little flutter in his belly as he threw open the door.

The now-familiar pair stood on the porch, the gentleman holding not a gilded cage but what appeared to be a small, delicately constructed henhouse. It was built of rich wood—maybe mahogany—with gilded accents, and a red velvet bow was tied to its top. It was a beautiful surprise, distinctive, and as Quentin admired it, the lady began to sing.

_“On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…three French hens, two turtledoves, and a partridge in a pear tree!”_

When Quentin reached for the door, it expanded in the way he’d come to expect, and the scent of fresh lavender carried on the breeze as Quentin stepped inside. This time Eliot came with him, one hand tucked in Quentin’s back pocket.

“Wow.” Eliot whistled as he looked around.

It _was_ wow. Where the first gift had been a modest tree with swing and a single bird, and the second gift had been a larger scene with a hill and a shrine to house its two birds, this one was so much more. Lavender fields stretched to the horizon at Quentin’s left, and to his right lay what looked like a small Provençal cottage. A henhouse was built into its side. Beyond that, a rocky slope led down to what appeared to be a white sand beach and little cove of sparkling aquamarine sea water.

A clucking noise attracted Quentin’s attention to three apparently French hens pecking at seed in front of the henhouse.

“I mean, they’re hens. How do we know they’re French?” Quentin asked, leaning against Eliot as he took it all in. He wished so hard Eliot was behind this. He squeezed him tight and then, reluctantly, let him go, reminding himself again that Eliot was way too hot for him, wasn’t really a monogamy guy, and that Quentin could very well push him away being too clingy. “And a beach. It smells heavenly in here. Not like hens at all.”

“Very relaxing.” Eliot clucked at the hens, stomping toward them and flapping his arms. He glanced back toward Quentin and observed, “This whole place smells like a goddamn Yankee Candle.”

Before either of them could do anything, the hens spooked and started running and hopping, wings fluttering futilely as they booked it toward the exit from the pocket dimension.

“Go!” Eliot cried, stomping after them, still flapping his arms wildly. “Be free, _mes amies_!”

“What? Eliot, no! I don’t know what will happen to them… Will they… I mean, can they escape?”

Apparently, they could. And they did. Quentin pushed back his hair that had fallen into his face, and then he remembered the wild electric reindeer outside, and real panic overwhelmed him. “Oh shit, the deer!”

Quentin ran out of the dimension. Kady and Julia were backing away from the noisy hens, Kady in the front as if she’d need to employ battle magic on the fowl.

“No! Kady, we just need to—” Before Quentin could finish, Eliot came out, knocking Quentin forward.

In a surprising show of grace, Quentin spun around, trying to grab Eliot to steady himself. Sleepy, manic Eliot did _not_ steady Quentin, however, and they staggered for a moment, their combined momentum spinning them around a few more times, and then they teetered and toppled to the floor.

Eliot grunted as his back slammed into the hardwood and then again as Quentin collapsed on top of him. As Quentin struggled to get his breath back, Eliot laughed and wrapped his arms around Quentin as if that might prevent further damage. Hens clucked around them curiously, no longer fleeing, and Eliot gazed up into Quentin’s face looking exhilarated and dopey at the same time.

Quentin smiled down at Eliot. His hair cascaded to shield their faces, and it suddenly felt extremely intimate.

“Hey,” Quentin said, searching Eliot’s eyes.

“Why are there chickens in my entryway?” Henry’s voice boomed, shocking Quentin out of the moment.

He scrambled to his feet. “Three French hens.” Quentin tried not to meet anyone’s gaze because that _had_ to be obvious to everyone.

Kady looked hopeful, her hand on her chest, but Julia seemed to be doing her best to not look directly at anyone.

“You need to find out who’s sending you these.”

“Yeah.” Quentin offered Eliot a hand up. “I got the license plate number this time at least.”

“Quentin has a working theory it could be Penny. Or Alice. Or Poppy.” Eliot lurched to his feet, then hung onto Quentin’s hand. “But I guess if he backtracks the license plate…” Eliot looked to Quentin and raised a brow.

Kady grinned. “You could find out at least what organization is facilitating the deliveries. That sounds promising, right?”

Coming from the resident investigator, that was probably going to be the best advice Quentin got.

Henry grumbled, “That’s wonderful. Now get these goddamn chickens _out of my house_.”

Releasing Quentin, Eliot moved with startling competence to herd the chickens back into the pocket dimension. He looked like a whole-ass idiot doing it, but it worked. Soon the three French hens were restored to their proper place, and Eliot shut the door, turned, and took a grandiose bow like it hadn’t been his fault they escaped in the first place.

“So, I’ve got a lead and now… the game is afoot!” Quentin said, his arm raised. “Have lead, will follow!”

Taking Eliot’s hand, Quentin dragged him up the stairs to his computer. It didn’t take long, thanks to the use of his credit card, to trace the owner of the van. Who appeared to be…?

“Free Trader Beowulf? The fuck kind of name is that for an organization?” Quentin glanced up at Eliot, who looked a little surprised at how easily Quentin had gotten the information.

“Looks like they have an office in… Brooklyn, New York. Not far from your place is it?” Quentin asked as he sent the address to his phone. “Looks like we’re headed back to the city!”

“Surely they won’t just give you the information if you walk in,” Eliot scoffed, and maybe he was a little cranky from being awakened so early and not yet given coffee. “You want to drive all the way back to the city _right now_? Can’t you… I don’t know… Call them?”

“I have a plan. But we should shower. And put on suits. We can have coffee and muffins on the way. Come on, El! Why would they answer a phone call? Go. Go shower. I’ll make some coffee, then I’ll shower.”

“You can use my shower, Q.” Julia stood in the doorway with two mugs of coffee. “Anything to get this whole thing over before it drives all of us crazy.”

Eliot grumbled but moved toward Julia with a bright approximation of a smile. “Thank you, Jules. You’re a goddess.” He inhaled the steam with a filthy moan and then took a sip. “Mm much better.”

He waved a hand at Quentin as if to indicate he was on board and then disappeared in the direction of the bathroom.

Quentin took the coffee from Julia while she pulled out a suit for him, apparently having overheard. “Q, you think it might be Poppy?”

“She called us turtledoves yesterday. And she does seem to be ever present.” Quentin sipped coffee as he followed her down the hall to her room and attached bath. “But she’s pretty awful, I know.”

“She was, yeah. But people change, Q. If you’re really sure it’s not Eliot—”

“He said it wasn’t him.”

Julia sighed and nodded, laying out his suit for him on her bed. “I think I know why Kady won’t help. She does work for Free Trader Beowulf sometimes.”

“You know about them?” Quentin leaned against the doorframe to the bathroom.

“I know a bit.” She smirked mysteriously. “They’re kind of a loose collective with a small management system. You can hire them to do all sorts of things. They’re very secretive, though. I don’t think they’re going to tell you anything.”

“I can be very persuasive when I need to be. I’ve got a plan. Don’t worry. I’ll have this figured out by the end of the day, or my name isn’t Sherlock!”

“Your name _isn’t_ Sherlock.” Julia rolled her eyes and laughed. She gave him a playful punch in the arm. “All right, goofy. Impress me with your detective skills.”

“You just wait!” Quentin made finger guns at her, and that was enough to make Julia shake her head and leave, closing the door behind her.

~*~

Everything seemed to be ticking right along as Quentin drove them back out to the city. They missed the worst of rush hour being midday, at least to the extent one could miss out on traffic in New York. This was why Quentin didn’t own a car.

Google did an adequate job of navigating them through the worst of it, but once they got close, the map went berserk and Quentin finally had to park. After he took another look at the address, he realized it was actually a riddle to be solved.

The start point was what was on the street map, and the actual address was at the center of a logarithmic spiral. As they centered in, a door appeared within the building they’d entered, branded FTB.

The door was in the hall, with no office behind it that Quentin could see. Dimensional portal.

Well, that’s what he was looking for, wasn’t it?

Eliot had been fidgety the whole way, questioning everything from Quentin’s deductions to his math, which was odd considering how little Eliot liked doing math. And he was wrong, so… while Quentin didn’t gloat, he did feel especially clever when the door popped up.

“All right. Just follow my lead.” Quentin looked quite dapper after Eliot had made a few adjustments to his suit, and he was really feeling himself as he pushed open the door.

The receptionist looked up and smiled, his gaze resting on Eliot.

“Oh, Ellllo. I mean, hello!” The young man looked slightly nervous and very confused. “Can I, um, help you?”

Quentin looked back over his shoulder at Eliot, who had that look on his face as if he was innocent, but Quentin had seen it too many times to believe it. “You two know each other?”

Before he could answer, a very attractive blond man breezed in from somewhere behind the receptionist desk and offered his hand. “Pouncy Silverkitten at your service. What can Free Trader Beowulf do for you?”

Quentin studied him, took in the way he looked at Eliot, and tried desperately to ignore that whole situation as he shook Pouncy Silverkitten’s hand. “My name is Mulder. Fox Mulder. I’m here with my partner Danny Scully on behalf of Mayors Ember and Umber of Fillory with regard to some portal magic being delivered to our town.”

“I’m the bad cop,” Eliot chirped, sounding very much the _opposite_ of a bad cop and looking tickled down to his toes. He was not taking this at all seriously, and Quentin felt the rising urge to kick him. Sure, Quentin had awakened him at an unaccustomed hour after staying up till dawn working, and sure, Eliot hadn’t imbibed enough caffeine yet to be operating at peak, but this was uncalled for.

“Ah. Portal magic to Fillory, you say?” Pouncy Silverkitten looked vaguely amused as he looked between the two. “I think we can probably handle this without arousing the ire of bad cop. Let me check the file.”

He held his hand out, and a file appeared. It looked to be empty to Quentin’s eye, but Pouncy Silverkitten nodded and hummed softly at it as if he were catching up on the situation. “Ah yes. I see. So what did you need?”

“I need the certificate of,” Quentin looked back at Eliot as if he was going to be any help, “authenticity from the… Franklin Mint so that we know that the person doing your portal magic is fully accredited. I also need to know who initiated the magic to be sure that it’s not malicious.”

“I can assure you this is not a malicious set of events, Mr. Mulder.”

“I understand, and if it was just me… but you know how the Mayors can be.” Quentin leaned forward just in case there was something in the file folder, which there was not that he could see.

Pouncy Silverkitten snapped the folder shut. “Of course, of course. I have a great working relationship with them. I’ll just give them a quick call. They didn’t need to send you all the way out here.”

A phone appeared in his hand.

Desperate, Quentin knocked it from his hand. “Um. Oops! Sorry.”

“Quite all right.” Pouncy Silverkitten smiled, and he looked like a fashion model, and Quentin kind of wanted to kick him in the shin when another phone appeared in his hand.

“No, you know, all we really need is to know who‘s sending the packages.” Quentin tried to look casual, leaning against the lobby desk, but he knocked over a bowl of small candy canes.

They spilled out, but with a few decisive movements, the whole thing was righted. Pouncy Silverkitten’s expression had not changed.

“In nine days, you will know who your true love is, _Mr. Mulder_. We are a firm based on our discretion. I’m sure you and your mayors will understand.”

“What, who, me? Oh no, it’s not for me.” Quentin affected being casual, took a candy cane from the bowl, and unwrapped it. “Not even a hint?”

Pouncy Silverkitten glanced at Eliot with a smirk and then back at Quentin. “I’m afraid that is all I can tell you. You’re welcome to more candy if you like.”

Eliot hummed consideringly and examined a candy cane. He sniffed it and then asked, “Are these from the artisanal candy shop in Williamsburg? The place that enhances everything with festive cheer?” Opening his candy cane, he licked it obscenely while looking directly at the other men and then nodded. “Definitely festive cheer.”

Picking up a handful of them, he shoved the candy canes at Quentin and said, “You’re going to need these, Mulder. It’s a week and a half till Christmas, and apparently patience is not your strong suit.”

Then Eliot gestured at Quentin from head to toe. “Although your literal strong suit is extremely fetching. Look at Fox, gentlemen. The name doesn’t lie.” Then Eliot started herding Quentin out, mumbling around a mouthful of candy, “All right, happy holidays, everyone. Enjoy your afternoon.”

Eliot was very good at talking with his mouth full.

“El, he was on the ropes! He was just about to break!” Quentin clutched the candy canes against his chest and turned around, but the door was already gone again. He shoved the candy canes into his pockets, because they were good. “You were no help at all! Bad cop? And flirting? Now I’ve gotta start all over with the damn spiral.”

“Q, they knew it was you. The X-Files, really? And the Franklin Mint? You panicked. You panicked, and you got made, and now this bridge is burned.” Eliot didn’t sound particularly troubled about it. He fellated his candy cane as he gazed intently at Quentin and then smiled. “But we got some fucking good candy out of it, so it hasn’t been a total loss. You want to go for an early consolation dinner while we’re here? My treat…”

“I did not panic. How did that seem panicked?” Quentin huffed and looked back again at where the door had been, then shrugged as he headed back to the car. “What kind of name is Pouncy Silverkitten anyway? And was he a model? Like, what kind of office has a guy that hot working in it?”

“So you thought he was hot?” Eliot asked, raising a brow. “Like model hot? Like you saw him and wanted to blow him hot, or like you saw him and wanted to _be_ him hot?” Eliot sucked his candy cane for another few seconds and then gestured with it as he added thoughtfully, “Valid if it was both. I have long been a proponent of aspirational cocksucking.”

He appeared to be completely distracted from the subject at hand. It was like he didn’t even care if Quentin found out the identity of his one true love.

“Like I wondered what ad I’d seen him in before hot. I mean. You probably wanted to suck his cock, right?” Quentin felt really huffy and annoyed now and definitely did not want to return to the office to see what Eliot would do to flirt with him next. “What does it matter? I’m trying to find out who my true love is, not catch a random dick.”

After a few more steps, Quentin stopped. “Did you already suck his cock, El?”

“Whose?” Eliot gave Quentin a calculating look. “Pouncy’s? Oh, c’mon, Q. He’s not my type.” Eliot cocked his head to the side, tracing his lips with the whittled-down end of his candy cane. He’d sucked off all the red stripes, leaving a tapered white glossy stick. “Why would you even care? You never ask about the random dicks I’ve caught.”

Quentin didn’t have a good answer for that. He shrugged. “I dunno. He gave you a look. I don’t think I even really know what your type is.”

Mostly, Quentin avoided knowing too much because it just made him feel inadequate and self-conscious. The whole thought made Quentin feel desperately lonely and a little cold. “Where do you want to eat?”

Eliot was giving Quentin a searching look, one that Quentin usually only caught on him when he was stoned or drunk, and then he pulled Quentin into a hug and tucked his chin on top of Quentin’s head.

“Pouncy’s too tall,” Eliot murmured, giving Quentin a little squeeze. Then he pulled away and beelined for the rental car. “Why don’t you take me to your favorite place?”

“ _That_ was my favorite place,” Quentin said quietly to himself, wishing Eliot would’ve held him a little longer. Louder, he said, hot on Eliot’s tail, “You leave it up to me you’re gonna get pizza; you know that.”


	5. Chapter 5

After dining on some admittedly pretty good pizza, Quentin drove Eliot back to Fillory. He seemed defeated, which Eliot hated, but at the same time… It was going to be worth it when Quentin realized what Eliot had done, wasn’t it? When Quentin got the big reveal?

Eliot understood he’d fucked around and partied, and Quentin didn’t really see him as a viable candidate for a monogamous, lasting relationship. To be honest, until this whole Penny thing, Eliot hadn’t seen himself as one either. But this…

God, it fucking killed Eliot to think of Quentin dating a guy—seriously dating a guy! Having rampant sex with a guy!—and that guy being anyone but Eliot. But it would’ve been super shitty to break up Penny and Quentin, and Quentin had seemed _so_ enthusiastic about Penny, and Eliot just…

How could he compete with that? Usually Eliot would place himself in the expert echelon of bedroom shenanigans, but Penny was _psychic._

Ugh.

So Eliot brooded internally while singing along with Quentin to extraordinary amounts of ‘80s power ballads, and when they finally arrived, he herded Quentin upstairs at once before anyone could pry too much into the results of their failed investigation. Standing at the bathroom sink, Eliot brushed his teeth in his boxers and watched Quentin in the mirror, trying to think of some way to cheer him up without ruining the surprise.

“Q,” he began, mouth too full of toothpaste to talk properly. Tactical blunder. He spat into the sink, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and tried again. “Q, as your best friend, I am going to insist we cuddle tonight. Therapeutic cuddling. To make up for… Everything.” He held up the hand holding the toothbrush to forestall protests. “I am aware you are a grown ass man and do not need your hand held or whatever bullshit, but today was rough, and it’s my duty and my honor to be your big spoon.”

Which… Eliot should probably jerk off first, if he was going to be pressing his crotch against Quentin’s pert little ass in bed together.

“After a quick shower,” he added, leaning against the bathroom counter to study Quentin. “If that’s okay. And if it’s not okay. It’s going to happen. I don’t entirely trust you to be honest about your own cuddle needs.”

“You need another shower? Do you think I need a shower?” Quentin lifted his arm and sniffed, because of course he would. He looked conflicted but nodded, consenting to snuggles.

What was going on in that head of his?

Pouncy Silverkitten practically _told_ Quentin it was Eliot sending the gifts, but he apparently instead got the idea that Pouncy wanted Eliot, which, if Quentin knew Pouncy and his anger issues, he would not be worried about in the least. But he didn’t, and instead Quentin kept looking at Eliot with the slightest bit of accusation. It was honestly a little heartbreaking.

“I like your smell,” Eliot said finally, wanting to affirm Quentin in some way. He dropped his toothbrush in the sink and grabbed Quentin by the waist, leaning in to nuzzle his neck and make exaggerated sniffing noises. “Mm Quentin stink. My favorite stink.”

Then he pulled away before he could get overexcited with nothing but flimsy silk to restrain his dong and made to escape into the shower. On impulse, wanting to give Q _something_ to hold onto, he instructed, “Go get the pillows off my bed too. We’ll make a fort to sleep in.”

“But… I mean, okay.” Quentin gave Eliot a soft, fond smile, and then it turned slightly wicked. “How long should I take getting the pillows off your bed? Five minutes do it? Ten?”

“Uh.” Eliot had the decency to blush, ears burning as he looked at Quentin. Then he donned a shit-eating grin and shrugged one shoulder. “Ten minutes, to be safe.” He ran his gaze over Quentin from tip to toe, refreshing his memory, winked, and then made good his escape.

By the time he’d taken the edge off his Quentin-induced lust, he felt both better and worse. Better, because the pressure not to spook Quentin with an inevitable erection had subsided. Worse, because Eliot still felt kind of guilty jerking off over Quentin, even if he was doing his level best to clue Quentin in to the situation. It felt like the kind of thing a creeper would do, not Quentin’s best friend.

But to be fair, Eliot had been creeping on Quentin since he met him, and they’d only been best friends well…not _quite_ that long.

Eliot let himself into Q’s room with his hair still damp and a towel wrapped around his waist to find a significant pile of pillows stacked on Q’s bed but no Q. Frowning, he followed the sound of voices down the hallway to Julia and Kady’s room. From within, Kady was saying, “Maybe you just need to be patient.”

“But you know them. Can’t you just… peek? It’s making me crazy, and I think we both know that’s a pretty short trip for me.” Quentin sounded exasperated but like he was trying to have a sense of humor about it.

“Pouncy would kill me. If you think I’m exaggerating, you don’t know Pouncy.” Kady laughed and then sighed. “Does it really matter who’s sending the gifts?”

“Does it matter who my one true love is? Yeah, I think that’ll change things. I haven’t really… I mean, I try. Maybe I just have impossibly high standards, but I don’t think so. I just… I haven’t really felt like… like maybe if I’m going through five or six relationships in two years, maybe the problem is me.”

“Q…” Julia’s voice. There was shuffling and a little sniffling; she was probably hugging him.

“But then I get these presents and someone… someone really sees me. Really cares. Thinks I’m worthy of this attention. And I think, maybe someone does love me. Maybe I deserve—”

“Q, we love you. Everyone loves you,” said Julia, her voice shaking with emotion.

“You know what I mean, Jules. I need my Kady. I need someone who sees me that way that I can see that way.”

Julia sighed. “I guess I forget that as popular as your comic book is, you could be lonely.”

Eliot sighed internally and chewed on his knuckle. This had really touched Q. It had made him feel something Eliot had been trying for years to make him feel. Worthy, deserving, loved. Eliot had always wanted him to feel that way, but for all his flirting and fussing over Quentin, it had never seemed to stick.

This mattered. This was important.

As easy as it would be to spoil the surprise and hope that it still had the same impact with Q knowing who was behind it… Eliot couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t risk prematurely exposing himself. What if it changed how Q received the gifts? Diminished his joy in them?

And if Q made it all the way through the gifts, read the letter Eliot had written, and decided he didn’t want to be with Eliot?

Well. Eliot wasn’t going to acknowledge that was a possibility.

He slipped silently back to Quentin’s room and banged around a little before calling, “Q?”

“Yeah, be right there.”

It took a moment, but then Quentin shuffled in. His eyes shone a little bright, but he had plastered on a smile. He was down to plaid flannel pajama pants and a t-shirt. His hair was freshly brushed back and tied in a little knot. “Good shower? Satisfying? And you said that guy wasn’t your type.”

Honestly, Q?

Eliot stared at him for a dumbfounded moment, wondering how Quentin could have totally missed the signals Eliot had been giving. Then he shrugged and pulled a clean pair of boxers from Quentin’s bureau.

“As if I’d whack it to Pouncy ‘Anger Issues’ Silverkitten,” he muttered. He turned his back to Quentin, dropped his towel, and pulled on his shorts before looking over his shoulder at Q and asking, “Ready to build a pillow fort?”

“What?” Quentin blinked, and his gaze moved up Eliot’s face slowly. His cheeks were red. “Oh, right. Yes. Pillows. I got lots of pillows.”

Eliot leered, just a little, satisfied that he’d gotten some kind of reaction out of Q, and then turned his attention on the bed. “All right, so we’re going to use magic to construct a fortress around the headboard and about halfway down the bed. We’ll use a bedsheet as the frame and the door. You and I will curl up inside in the cozy dark and snooze until your four colly birds arrive.”

Maneuvering his fingers just so, Eliot telekinetically knocked the pillows to the foot of the bed and arranged a preliminary framework with a bedsheet at its head. “Tuck that in behind the headboard, Q. Hustle.”

As Quentin worked to eliminate any gaps in their fort, Eliot chanted in Sumerian. It was satisfying doing magic here in Fillory, like this place _wanted_ him to cast here. When it was done, the bedsheet draped just so in midair. It wasn’t rigid, just suspended from several firm magical hooks, and it would hold the pillows in place, more or less. At least, Eliot assumed it would. He hadn’t built a pillow fort in a long, long time, and he’d been drunk.

Taking up a position at the foot of his side of the bed—Eliot thrilled a little that he had his own side of Quentin’s bed—he picked up two pillows and smacked them together. “Time for the ceremonial pillow fight.”

“El, I think you know by now that I’m a lover, not a fighter.” Q looked so sweet and sincere for about a half second before he grabbed a pillow and dropped down to smack Eliot on the torso.

Cackling, Eliot stumbled backward and swung both his pillows at Q’s head, one from either side. He lunged forward while Q was ducking away and knocked him back a few steps before relenting for the sake of sportsmanship.

“Come at me, Q,” he taunted, grinning broadly.

And he did. Quentin dove for Eliot, knocking him backward on the bed, straddling his chest, apparently a champion of pillow fights, which wasn’t hard to imagine. Especially in his childhood bedroom. He snatched away one of Eliot’s pillows with one hand; the other came down softly on Eliot’s head.

Oh it was a good thing Eliot had just jerked off. His entire body felt electrified by Quentin’s proximity, and he tried to play off his breathlessness as being smothered by the pillow when he batted it away. Gazing up at Quentin, he ran his tongue over his upper lip and got lost for a moment in his fantasy of kissing him. Then he lifted his remaining pillow to bop Quentin gently, barely a hit, knocking some of Q’s hair loose.

Quentin stared down at him, a bit of manic glee behind his eyes. He snatched the pillow from Eliot’s hand and tossed it away. He looked possessed by something as he curled a hand around the back of Eliot’s neck.

Things happened so fast. Quentin was leaning in, and then he was flying off to the end of the bed.

Julia stood in the doorway looking panicked. Then, apparently, she took in the situation with pillows. “OLU, I thought you two were fighting. Oh, I’m so sorry, Q!”

“What the actual—” Eliot blinked and sat up slowly, staring at Julia and then at Quentin. “Did you… Julia, what did you think was happening?”

Quentin groaned from the floor where he’d fallen, and she ran to him, apologizing over and over. “I just thought… you know, Q was really frustrated. I thought maybe he snapped.”

“I appreciate your faith in my fighting capabilities that you think I could take Eliot down like that but fucking ow, Jules.” Quentin sat up, gripping his shoulder.

She put her hand on it, and there was a soft glow as she healed him, which was a neat trick. He had no idea Julia could do that.

“What makes you think Q would snap at me?” Eliot asked when he’d gathered his wits, standing to hover over Q and help him up. “Q, why would Julia think you’d snap at me?”

Q looked mystified and held his hands up. “I don’t know. I mean, I am champion undefeated in pillow fights, but that’s the only kind of fight I’ve been in?”

“There’s just this weird… tension between you two. I’m so sorry. I guess I’m even more stressed than I thought. I thought he had you by the neck…”

Quentin’s cheeks lit up as he averted his gaze. “Um. Yeah. Jules…”

“And he didn’t have any pillows in his hands…” Julia’s eyes widened. “ _Oh._ ”

“Jules?” Kady’s voice came from the hallway, and then she peered inside the open door. “Jules, come to bed, baby. It’s late.”

She shot Eliot an apologetic, knowing look and then fixed her attention on Julia, beckoning her with both hands. “Let the boys have their fun, and we’ll go have ours.” Kady raised a brow and purred, just a little, making plain what she intended to do with Julia.

Good for them.

If only Kady had arrived three minutes sooner.

Eliot looked to Quentin, studying his blush, and bit his lip. Had Quentin really been so caught up in the wrestling he was going to make a move? Who knew Q liked pillow fighting so much?

“Go on, Julia. You’ve fulfilled your duty as a sibling.” Eliot flopped back on the bed, trying to cover his exasperation with smarm as he waved her off. “Sweet dreams. Close the door behind you.”

“Okay but Q… keep in mind… if you’re waiting for your one true love… this…” Julia gestured to the two of them. “Would complicate that.”

“Yeah. You’re right.” Quentin didn’t look happy about it.

“It would be inappropriate. I don’t think your true love would approve, do you?” Julia waited a beat for an answer which seemed to just be Quentin getting up from the floor and sliding onto the bed next to Eliot on his stomach.

“Probably not.”

“Good night, Q. Night, El. Be good. Eyes on the prize.” Julia smiled and shut the door behind her.

Ugh. Fuck.

Taking a deep breath, Eliot began arranging the pillows to complete the pillow fort. _Eyes on the prize, El._

If he and Quentin had a random one-off because…what? Quentin was horny and literally no one else was available? That would undermine the bigger impact of the twelfth gift and its accompanying letter.

Never had Eliot been so grateful for having masturbated. No way would he be able to approach this with a clear mind otherwise.

 _Quentin_ had been about to _kiss Eliot_.

“C’mon,” Eliot mumbled, smacking Quentin with a pillow. “Help me finish our masterpiece.”

No point letting Quentin sink any further into his brooding. Eliot needed to maintain a façade of normalcy.

“Yeah?” Quentin turned his head to the side; his face was still red. “You’re not mad?”

“What? Why would I be mad?” Eliot gently smacked Quentin with the pillow again, trying to get him moving. “Don’t overthink this, Q. It’s not a big deal. You got a little carried away. It happens.”

“Um… yeah.” Quentin’s brows were furrowed. He didn’t seem to want to let it go that easily. Then he let out a long sigh, sat up, and helped Eliot with the pillows.

As Quentin worked, Eliot bumped their sides together and gave Quentin half-hugs to try to reestablish their usual casual intimacy. When they’d finished setting up the fort, Eliot motioned for Quentin to climb in, lit a couple candles, and turned out the overheard light. He joined Quentin in the fort, where it was dark but for the pale golden glow coming in through the bedsheet, and sprawled out on his side.

“You still want to be my little spoon, Q?” Eliot patted the space in front of him invitingly.

“Yeah.” In the glow of the candles, Quentin looked extra soft and sweet. He crawled to Eliot and turned around, fitting his back against Eliot’s chest as if he belonged there. “You think when I find out who my true love is that we’ll have to stop doing this?”

“Definitely not.” Eliot kissed Quentin’s hair gently and wrapped himself around Q’s smaller frame. “We’re best friends. Everyone knows that.” Eliot paused and then whispered, “Do you really think I’d let anyone take this away from us?”

Quentin relaxed against Eliot and twined their fingers together to wrap Eliot’s arms tighter around him. “This kind of seems like the sort of job that a true love would want to have, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe,” Eliot hedged, nuzzling Quentin affectionately and hugging him close. He sighed, braced himself, and then asked, “Do you want me to go to my own room? Keep my distance until you know who sent the gifts?”

“No.” Quentin pulled Eliot’s arms tighter around him. “My true love will just have to understand.”

“Good.” Eliot hooked his leg around Quentin’s lower body and anchored them together, nestling as close as he could get. Then, very quietly, he whispered, “Love you, Q. Get some sleep.”

Quentin let out another long sigh, body relaxing against Eliot. “Love you, too.”

~*~

Quentin awoke in Eliot’s arms and then dozed longer just enjoying the peace of being wrapped up in Eliot’s warmth. Logically, he knew he should’ve accepted Eliot’s offer to keep his distance, but he didn’t think he could bear it.

He loved the romance of the situation, but it scared him, too. Especially after Julia had pointed out his behavior with Eliot probably wouldn’t be tolerated.

Then again, someone who was Quentin’s true love should understand how important Eliot was to him, shouldn’t they?

Quentin rolled over to face Eliot, tracing his features until his long lashes fluttered. “Hey. Ready to get up?”

“Mm do I have a choice?” Eliot asked without opening his eyes. He snuggled closer, resting his forehead against Quentin’s. His warm breath gusted against Quentin’s mouth. It was still mostly dark in their fort, with morning light filtering in through the sheet draped over the end of it. It all seemed so drowsy and secret.

Then Eliot opened his eyes and looked into Quentin’s from up close. He smiled and rubbed their noses together before rolling over onto his back and stretching. “Guess I should get some coffee in me before today’s true love special delivery arrives.”

Instead of getting up, though, he extended his arm toward Quentin as if inviting him to come rest his head on Eliot’s bare chest again.

Quentin shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. He was really going to mess everything up if he let himself get wrapped up in Eliot again.

But he was weak, and he hadn’t had coffee, and outside of the pillow fort was bound to be cold.

He pressed his face against Eliot’s chest and rested his hand on his belly, tracing a little circle on his skin.

Why was the idea of being desirable to someone making it so hard to resist Eliot? It didn’t make any sense. He should be out there investigating, not clinging to his best friend. Someone _loved_ him. Someone thought he was _worth_ twelve days of fuss and a letter.

“Yeah, four calling birds. Guess it’ll be loud? We probably need coffee.”

“Mm coffee,” Eliot echoed as he pressed kisses to the top of Quentin’s head.

How could he be so sweet and yet so wholly against romance? Eliot was so effortlessly affectionate and tender. Why couldn’t he be a relationship guy?

Quentin had almost _kissed_ him last night, and Eliot hadn’t gotten upset, but there was a difference between acceptance and encouragement, wasn’t there? And if he _had_ kissed Eliot… What then? Would Eliot put it in their past just as easily? Quentin knew how Eliot treated former flings. He wasn’t cruel or avoidant, merely indifferent, like the sex hadn’t mattered at all. Like it was impossible to leave a lasting mark on his heart.

Then Eliot mumbled, “Stop thinking, Q,” and lifted his hands in a quick tut that released the magic holding the pillow fort in place. It collapsed on top of them, a mass of pillows and bedsheet. Eliot pushed up the sheet, knocking pillows onto the floor, and peered down at Quentin in the suddenly brighter light. “This is all going to work out, but you can’t _think_ it into working out. Okay?”

Flinging out his arm, Eliot stripped the sheet off them and knocked the rest of the pillows aside, leaving Quentin bare to the chilly air but for where he pressed into Eliot’s heat.

“Now, we face the day and whatever comes before Julia marches in here and lectures me for corrupting you without your true love’s blessing.”

“She’s just trying to look out for me.” Quentin sat up and pushed his hair back. He stared at Eliot again, wondering if he really would just put sex in their past. If Quentin could just do it, try to get Eliot out of his system so that he could concentrate more fully on whoever this true love was…

Eliot met his gaze, and Quentin’s pulse quickened. Then he knew without a doubt that Eliot could probably set sex aside, but Quentin wouldn’t be able to do that. It was just another of his impulses toward self-destruction that kept him from being happy.

So he got up and headed into the bathroom for a shower where he could work out his frustrations in privacy.

Once clean and freshly masturbated, Quentin felt better able to face the day. He came out wrapped in a towel and started to look through his drawers for another Christmas sweater.

Eliot sat on the chair in the corner of Quentin’s room, already perfectly dressed, if stubbly and messy-haired, sipping what looked like a cappuccino. He saluted Quentin and carried on watching him as if there was nothing more fascinating to do than observe Quentin’s attempt to find appropriate clothing.

On the bright side, Eliot had cleared away the mess of the pillow fort, which was something.

“There’s a cappuccino for you on the nightstand,” Eliot added, pointing, and then he resumed watching Quentin, eyes crinkled at the corners with something approaching mirth.

“Thank you.” Quentin hustled over to get his cappuccino and decided it was definitely a Christmas T-rex kind of day. He pulled out his blue sweater embroidered with Santa riding the dinosaur and his usual pair of black jeans. He considered just dressing in front of Eliot and flashing his ass like Eliot had but quickly lost his nerve and changed in the bathroom.

When he came back out, the doorbell rang. Quentin finished up his coffee and then ran down the stairs, Eliot hot on his heels. Eliot’s excitement seemed out of place for so early in the morning, and he hadn’t seemed to even care if he was present the other days.

Today, though, he was right behind Quentin as he opened the door and took in the presence of the familiar singer and liveried gift-bearer.

_“On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…four colly birds, three French hens, two turtledoves, and a partridge in a pear tree!”_

Today’s cage was rustic and wild, as if it had been grown from the earth with branches twisting into a cage shape instead of actually crafted by human hands. It still bore a red velvet bow on top, and a small gilded latch closed the door. When Quentin touched it, it expanded and opened, bringing with it a strong scent of deep woods and minerals.

It was very early morning or very late evening in the pocket dimension, and Quentin squinted as he stepped inside, letting his eyes adjust to the dimness. The distinctive sound of birdsong struck up as he moved forward, a beautiful, low trilling coming from all directions. Peering up in the faint starlight, he made out a big blackbird perched on the branch of a fir tree. Looking around, he spotted three more.

The pocket dimension seemed to contain a deep, chilly forest populated with the singing blackbirds, but more strikingly, as Quentin explored a little deeper, following his nose, he found the source of the mineral smell: A beautiful, untouched, natural hot spring, steam rising from its surface.

Quentin sank to his knees and rolled up his sweater to put his hand into the spring. It was the perfect warmth. He pulled off his socks and stuck his feet in. “Ahh, this is nice.”

He sat back on his elbows looking up at Eliot, who appeared to really be enjoying the scenery.

“El, last night you said colly birds. I thought it was calling birds, but the lady sang colly birds. Have I been singing it wrong my whole life? And what’s a colly bird? Because I’m picturing a bird with the head of a collie dog and fortunately that is not what is in here.”

“Oh, it’s archaic. Old English or whatever. Colly, meaning coaly, or black as coal. Blackbirds.” Eliot gestured toward where a curious blackbird had hopped down to the top of a rock formation growing from the mineral spring. For a moment, Eliot sounded almost too casual, and then he was rolling up his trousers, peeling off his socks, and settling onto the stone behind Quentin to bracket Quentin’s hips with his thighs and dip his own feet into the spring.

Quentin leaned back against Eliot as he marveled over the weird things that Eliot knew. “Lot of birds in this song. I never really thought about it before.”

He reached out to the bird, who hopped onto Quentin’s finger and started to sing to him. Quentin whistled back to it, and it stared up at him, tilting its head as if it enjoyed being sung to. “Are you my colly bird? Pretty, pretty colly bird?”

Eliot laughed and whispered, “I think he likes you.” He tightened his thighs around Quentin’s hips, settling closer, and rested his chin on Quentin’s shoulder as he peered at the bird and lifted his own hand slowly to stroke a fingertip over its little black head.

It felt like a dream, the whole situation surreal in the perfect light, all of this for Quentin. Eliot wrapped around him enjoying it.

The bird tilted his head to the side, seeming to enjoy the stroking, and directed Eliot’s finger to the top of its head. Another blackbird dropped down onto Quentin’s wrist, seeming to want to get in on the attention. He sang sweetly, and Quentin whistled back to him.

“I feel like a goth Disney princess with warm feet.”

Eliot chuckled and pressed a hot kiss to the side of Quentin’s throat before petting the second bird too. “Would you say ‘goth Disney princess’ is a vibe you had previously wanted to capture? Or is this a new development?”

“No, that’s a vibe I usually associate more with Alice.” Quentin froze for a moment. Her name seemed to break the spell with the birds. They fluttered away, and it seemed like Eliot shrank back a little as well. “You know, I don’t want to seem cocky or anything but… she did seem to be flirting with me at the fundraiser.”

There was a time in his life when the idea of Alice would’ve filled him with butterflies, but now it felt bittersweet. Alice definitely would not be super understanding of Eliot sleepovers.

Quentin dropped his hand and looked up at the four blackbirds staring down at him. They began to sing again, their sweet, sad little song.

“Master magician,” Eliot acknowledged quietly. “Given time and spell components, she’s capable of something like this.” After a brief pause, Eliot asked, “Do you want it to be Alice?”

_No, but my first choice isn’t available._

Quentin stared up at the birds as they split into two groups of two, singing their song in canon. The notes created a melancholy beauty that Quentin felt to his bones.

“I mean, she’s beautiful. Gifted. A guy could do a lot worse.” The breakup hadn’t been messy or ugly, but it had felt definitive. “Maybe my absence made her heart grow fonder.”

Eliot murmured noncommittally and hugged Quentin once more before pulling away and rising to his feet. “Well, no matter who sent it to you, a personal mineral springs is pretty romantic. I reserve the right to come soak here on New Year’s when my head is throbbing from too much champers. Deal?”

“Deal.” Quentin got up, and the birds stopped singing. He picked up his socks, headed out, and ran into Julia.

“This one’s a little creepy, isn’t it? These gifts are getting kind of weird.”

“I don’t think it’s creepy. It’s beautiful. And romantic. There’s a mineral springs.” Quentin pointed over his shoulder, but Julia looked dubious.

“You need to find out who this is and make it stop.”

“Stop?” Quentin frowned at Julia, who started to retreat. He frowned. The gifts were probably annoying her. Interruptions and stealing focus from her and her wedding. He shrugged and looked at Eliot. “Guess I should call Alice.”

“Maybe you can buy her a coffee, see how she responds,” Eliot suggested, as typically chill about it as ever. “Alice probably would enjoy catching up at the very least. She seemed very happy to see you at the bazaar.”

“Yeah. I mean, we have some books in the spare room. I could offer to donate them or something. She was working for the church, so… Would you autograph a few with me, and I can work my charm?” Quentin smiled in a way that he hoped was sweet and ingratiating. “Worst thing that can happen is we donated to a good goddess, right?”

“I’m really more of a Bacchus guy myself,” Eliot drawled, but he nodded quickly after. “Of course, Q. Let’s do this right.”

~*~

As Quentin both hoped and feared, it was extremely easy to get a coffee date with Alice. She sounded very happy to hear from him, which was nice. Apparently, she’d been reading his comic books, had enjoyed them, and remembered awards and milestones that even he’d forgotten.

Honestly, she sounded kind of obsessed. Maybe Julia was right and these gifts were a little creepy.

But he offered the books. She accepted gladly and was available for a meeting right away.

Quentin bundled up, settled Eliot down with plenty to drink and plenty of pencils to do his work. He left his family with strict instructions not to interrupt Eliot, which seemed to cause affront and genuine agreement that no one really wanted to bother Eliot, which… was strange, but he wasn’t going to argue with anyone.

If nothing else, Eliot could always hop into one of the pocket dimensions if he wanted, so Quentin felt less guilty about abandoning him.

He met Alice outside of the strange little gothic coffee shop that Alice had suggested, and Quentin was struck anew with just how _Alice_ the whole colly birds thing had been.

She was head to toe in black, including a long cloak with a hood that made her look spooky but also pretty hot, if he was being honest, and Quentin reassured himself that when things with Alice had been good, they’d actually been really great.

And hey, there were worse things than becoming a fox for the rest of his life, right?

They put in their coffee orders up front, and the barista gestured for them to have a seat. There was a cozy little nook in the corner of the purple room. It was a very Persephone-heavy environment with beautiful and sometimes chilling art.

Quentin pulled out the seat for Alice and then took his spot across from her. He set his messenger bag on the back of the chair and shook out of his coat.

Alice remained in her outerwear, shivering slightly.

“Hey. So um, hey, good to see you, Alice. Um… I brought the books.” He turned to the side to get them from his bag.

“Thank you, Quentin. That’s really so thoughtful. I was surprised to get your phone call, but I guess not _that_ surprised.” She smiled a little, arms crossed under her breasts as she hugged herself for warmth. “It was so nice to see you the other day.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it really was. I don’t get back here that much outside the holidays, and even lately, you know…” Quentin stretched out his hands in offer to take hers to warm them up as he’d often done when they were together. “But Julia’s getting married, and everyone needed some holiday cheer. Or, they got some holiday cheer whether they wanted it or not. They really love that wreath.”

Alice smiled wider and offered Quentin her hands, small and chilly in his as he chafed the warmth back into them. “I’m so happy for Julia and Kady. It seems like just yesterday we were all kids, just figuring out the world, and now…” She sighed, eyes bright, and then said more quietly, “I heard you were seeing Penny until recently. I was surprised. I never imagined you would… Well. It didn’t seem like you and Penny got along very well.”

So she was aware of his relationship status. That seemed promising.

He squeezed her hands gently. “We both did some growing up, I guess. People change. I mean, in fairness, in a lot of ways Penny didn’t change _that much._ He waited until the absolute last minute to break up with me before this trip… but, things have a way of working out the way they’re supposed to, right?”

“Right.” She seemed slightly uncertain, but she was still smiling, and she didn’t pull her hands away. “It might’ve been too much to ask that he someday become Kady’s brother-in-law. But I’m sure you’ve learned something valuable from your time with him. It seems like you’ve become more stable and mature.” Clasping his hands a little tighter before releasing them, she said, “The old Quentin would’ve been too insecure to date Penny.”

The barista hustled over with their drinks then, and as Alice reached for hers, the barista said, “Enjoy your coffee, your holiness.”

Alice smiled at her and then turned her gaze on Quentin as she sipped her drink.

Too insecure? What was that about? Why should he be insecure about Penny?

He stared down at his drink and then picked it up to take a sip.

And calling Alice her holiness? That was kind of snarky. Quentin looked after the barista and muttered, “Well that was rude.”

People were often intimidated by Alice. She was gifted and beautiful, and sometimes it seemed like their bitterness would come at her sideways. It made him feel defensive of her, but she didn’t seem upset by it, so he just shrugged.

“Anyway, yeah. He did mention Kady. But that’s old news. I’m trying to focus now on people who really care about me. People who would see me as their _one true love_.” Quentin leaned in meaningfully as he said it, raising his brows and nodding at her to let her know that he knew it was her. “I mean, it’s really flattering.”

“Ah.” Alice’s expression shuttered, like it did sometimes when she was feeling something she wasn’t prepared to display. “Yes, I—I imagine it would be very flattering to be seen as someone’s ‘one true love’.” She blinked a couple times behind the thick frames of her glasses and carried on sipping her coffee.

It was obvious that she was waiting for Quentin to make his move.

“Yeah, I mean, after the breakup, I mean, I’ll be honest, I didn’t really know where things would even go with Penny. If we’re being honest, I didn’t expect it to last as long as it did. It was kind of a drunken hook up and then just… became a thing for a bit.” Quentin realized he was rambling, and not in a way that was particularly flattering to him or to Alice. “The presents really… I guess you saw me as insecure, and maybe that’s… not untrue. I guess to a point I was feeling kind of unlovable, so the presents really… I mean, it’s been a while for us, but you know, if you… I just want to say that it means a lot. And, I know we’ve both changed and…”

Quentin didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sure he really wanted to try again, but then, the presents were so nice. “We can give it a shot?”

“Quentin…” Alice bit her lip as she looked at him, expression resolving into compassion. “I don’t know what presents you’re talking about, and I… You’re very lovable, but I’m a priestess of Our Lady Underground. I don’t…date.”

She tugged at her black scarf and long coat, revealing the pure white vestments of a priestess beneath.

“I’m sorry, Q.”

“Oh. No. I mean. You know. Good. I mean, good for you. Good for… good for Our Lady Underground. I mean, wow.” Quentin wished he could dissolve into his latte. “Congratulations, your holiness. I should um… probably crawl into a deep hole somewhere. Could visit Persephone. Send your regards, right?”

Quentin covered his face with his hands. “Sorry, Alice.”

“What? Q, don’t be ridiculous.” Alice kicked his foot under the table repeatedly until he looked at her. “Quentin Fogg, you are one of the most endearing people I’ve ever met, and if I was going to give an ex a second chance, it would almost definitely be you.” She smiled a little and tucked a strand of stick-straight blond hair behind her ear. “I really did want to get coffee and catch up.”

“Yeah? I’d like that, too.” Humiliation aside, it was a relief.

“You already know all my…” Quentin gestured at the books. “I have to hear how you became a priestess!”

~*~

While Quentin was gone, Eliot set to work drinking coffee, enjoying an extremely potent edible, and doing the framing for the next page of their comic. No one bothered him, and the natural light under the skylight upstairs was remarkable, perfect for this. He appreciated the precise nature of his task, the slow perfection of mapping the layout and bringing it to life.

Art had been his first big goal in life, when he was a young kid trying to fit in and realizing he never would. He’d hidden his passion, expressing it only for an hour or two a week in elementary school, not wanting to be called names, not wanting to risk hatred or a beating. Now, drawing for hours on end, no one daring to interrupt, gave him a special thrill of rebellion. He shaped his life now, made of it what he wanted, and no one was going to stop him.

Of course, there was _one_ complication. Quentin was a variable Eliot couldn’t entirely account for. He kept life exciting, always unpredictably bold, remarkably thoughtful.

Would Quentin confront Alice about the gifts right away? Fuck, Eliot hoped not. He wanted them to spend some time catching up, Quentin gradually, subtly trying to ascertain if she could be the gift-giver. No embarrassment, no hurt feelings, just covert surveillance.

Was that too much to hope for?

With that thought in mind, Eliot set aside his work and began drawing something else instead: a cartoon representation of the twelve days of Christmas for Q to use as a checklist. Just something cute to add to his anticipation. Then, if Quentin had crashed and burned with Alice, Eliot could surprise him with doodles.

Those always cheered Quentin up. He really seemed to love them, too. Eliot had found silly sketches of his left lying around tacked up to Quentin’s refrigerator or corkboard.

When the front door finally opened some time later, Eliot had gone on to draw more doodles, this time little chibis of him and Quentin making snow angels, building a snowman, and drinking Poinsettias, aka cranberry mimosas, aka the greatest of the holiday brunch beverages, through curly straws. Eliot hastily stashed those away where Quentin wouldn’t see them and headed downstairs in cautious optimist mode. It helped that he was fairly stoned.

“Q! The conquering hero returns. How’s Ms. Quinn?”

“She’s a priestess!” Quentin grinned and looked a little crazy. Not really his most impressive of fake cheer. He shrugged out of his coat, dropped his bag, and made a beeline for the wet bar. “But it’s really good. She’s found a real sense of peace and purpose. Isn’t really looking to date, though, so… that puts me back at square one.”

He got out the cranberry juice, stared at it, then set it down. He picked up the vodka bottle, looked at the juice, then just opened the vodka bottle and took a swig, following it up with a swallow of cranberry juice.

“Whoa, Q, stop. You’re committing a crime against cocktails. Step aside and no one gets hurt.” Eliot removed the bottles from Quentin’s hands and dragged him out from behind the wet bar. “You appear to want a Cape Cod cocktail. Let’s mix it in a glass and not in your stomach.”

Eliot pushed Quentin onto a bar stool and then slipped behind the counter himself to mix a drink. “I’m going to blow your mind. Are you ready?”

Looking at Quentin as he rifled through the bottles he’d brought for just such an occasion, Eliot found the lychee liqueur, scooped up some ice, and poured everything into a cocktail shaker. Making borderline flirtatious eye contact, Eliot did an impromptu samba while providing his own rhythm section with the swish of the shaker. When he was convinced it was just watered down enough to be fucking cold, he strained it into an old-fashioned glass and pushed it across the bar to Quentin.

“Red Lotus. Much more sophisticated than a Cape Cod. You’re not a Cape Cod boy, Quentin.” Eliot considered that and backtracked. “ _Don’t_ be a Cape Cod boy, Quentin.” He leaned his elbows on the bar and gazed at Q, doing his best bartender routine. “Now tell Daddy all about your atrocious outing.”

“What’s a Cape Cod boy?” Quentin stared at Eliot as if he had grown a second head, then picked up the cocktail and took a sip. “Oh wow, this is really good. I’m a whatever this is boy. Red Lotus?”

Then he knocked it back with relish and then set the glass down and tapped the bar. “I feel like I’m going to need a few to catch up. But um, it wasn’t bad, really. Other than being the last person in the world to know she’s a priestess, and she was nice about it. Didn’t laugh, so… you know. She said she was surprised I dated Penny because I’m so insecure. Am I insecure? Tell me I’m not insecure, El.”

“Hm.” Eliot considered that as he mixed Quentin a second Red Lotus. “You’re not _not_ insecure. And Penny’s kind of…advanced curriculum. I wasn’t even aware Penny was down to catch a dick until you so boldly explored the unknown, and honestly, that’s usually my job.”

Eliot pondered a moment longer before pushing Quentin’s drink at him and adding, “Of course, I wasn’t aware _you_ were down to catch a dick until then either, so that really shows my gaydar—bidar?—has never been as finely honed as I would like to believe.”

“I flirt with you all the time.” Quentin made a face as if he didn’t believe what he was hearing. “Penny didn’t really know he was down to catch a dick either. It was… I dunno. We always had tension. I guess we finally figured out it was sexual. Or…”

Quentin sipped his drink looking very pensive now. “Maybe the whole break up was a fake out. He’d know he was going to break up with me, could’ve arranged all these gifts knowing I’d be here. I mean, risky assuming I’d go without him, but… he’s psychic…”

Ugh.

Eliot did his best to keep his expression neutral. “I would say that’s a massive dick move, but Penny is nothing if not a massive dick.” Eliot held up his hand to forestall further comment along those lines. “Please don’t tell me that he _has_ a massive dick. I know far too much about your sex life with Adiyodi already.”

“Okay, I won’t tell you, then.” Quentin smirked and finished his second Red Lotus, kicking the wet bar like a giant brat. “I mean, maybe he saw in me that I wasn’t… totally all in, you know? Felt like he needed to make a big move like this for me to really take us seriously.”

Quentin hadn’t been taking his relationship with Penny seriously? That was news to Eliot.

“Like um, subconsciously, you know? Like we broke up, and I was sad, but it wasn’t like… like if you said you didn’t want to see me anymore, that would… you know…” Quentin stared off into space for a sad moment. His features softened as the alcohol started taking hold. “Destroy me.”

“Oh Q.” Eliot stood tiptoe and leaned over the bar to wrap Quentin’s shoulders in a hug. “As if I’d ever say such a loathsome thing. You’re…” He trailed off, uncertain how much it was wise to say. He was counting on the love letter with the twelfth day’s gift to express his emotions, and if Eliot botched it now…

“I’d never say that,” he finished lamely, releasing Quentin and relaxing again. Then, changing the subject, he asked, “Have you eaten? Do you need something to eat? Don’t get too hammered this early. Your dad will have my balls in a blender.”

“I had some cupcakes.” Quentin said, tracing a pattern on the bar. “Several cupcakes.”

He rubbed his forehead. “Eight, okay? I had eight cupcakes. They were really good, and it was all that they had at the coffee shop. And it’s not that early. They probably already ate dinner. Did you?”

Oh. Oops.

“No, well. I had an edible?” Eliot rubbed the back of his neck and gave Quentin a wry smile. “Oh, that reminds me. I doodled you something. Go make us sandwiches, and I’ll bring it downstairs.”

“How about _you_ make us sandwiches so we don’t end up with a deconstructed sandwich, and I go get your doodle? I should move on to wine, though. Pick me a good wine sandwich. No. Sandwich wine. Whatever. I’ll be right back.” Quentin was very sugared and alcohol’ed up now and didn’t spend any time waiting for the answer, just headed right up the stairs, leaving Eliot to deal with sandwiches.

Well, Eliot _was_ the superior sandwich artisan of the two of them, so he supposed it made sense. Besides, he was in the lethargic stage of being high and didn’t really want to climb the stairs yet. Also, he was fucking hungry.

He headed into the kitchen and rifled the fridge for a dry Riesling, pastrami and Havarti, sandwich veggies, whole-grain mustard, and the fresh mayo he’d made yesterday. Seeded sourdough went into the toaster, and he popped open the wine.

Quentin was always so appreciative of Eliot’s pairings—it was, in fact, historically a large part of his charm—and Eliot didn’t want to disappoint him on a rough night.

A sudden _sproing_ announced the toaster had ejected the toast, and Eliot took his time slathering condiments and layering crisp, cold veggies onto the hot, golden bread. He alternated a layer of cheese with a layer of pastrami with another layer of cheese and then cut their sandwiches on the diagonal. When he was done, he looked up, wine bottle in hand, expecting to see Quentin waiting eagerly for food.

Where was he?

“Q?” Eliot called, wondering if Quentin had gone to change clothes or hit the bathroom.

“Yeah?” Quentin came down the stairs carrying his work with his chibi drawings on the top. “I was just looking at these. They’re cute! You made us chibis! Not something I would’ve expected from Dr. Mr. Art Major.”

He was a little tipsy, which only added to the cute. “I love these so much, El.”

Eliot cringed internally and then moved his mouth in an attempt to speak on several separate occasions.

“Oh,” he finally managed. “Yeah, well, I thought you might be having a hard day, so. Um. But actually the doodle I did for you on purpose was the twelve days of Christmas countdown, so you could tick them off each day counting down to the big one.”

Face burning, Eliot carried their plates to the table and then telekinetically summoned the wine glasses and Riesling. He poured them both a generous portion and then sank into his seat like a marionette with cut strings. “Eat. Drink. Be merry.”

Quentin picked up his plate and glass of wine and moved to the living room. “Come snuggle while we eat and drink. I want to talk to you about these chibis. I think we need to do some snow angels. Make a snowman… see if they last against the reindeer horde. Sip these drinks while we watch the world burn. Or the ice sculptures are trampled. You know, whatever.”

Unable to resist tipsy Quentin’s personal magnetism, Eliot relocated after a few moments and a pleading look from Quentin. Feeling oddly strung out and exposed, Eliot sank onto the couch beside Quentin, shoulders pressing together, and propped his feet on the ottoman. “It’s that kind of day, huh?”

“Yeah. I missed you. I wished you’d gone with me. Then when the inevitable failure happened you could’ve hugged me and made me feel better.” Quentin set his Riesling aside, took a bite of his sandwich, and smiled, chewing it slowly. “Seriously, you wanna build snowmen? I mean, I guess if I go visit Penny… You probably don’t want to go with me for that, do you?”

“Why would you…want me to go with you to visit Penny?” Eliot asked, snuggling up to Q’s side as he sipped his wine. “If things went well, wouldn’t you want me far away so you could engage in some athletic reunion nookie? Unless,” Eliot speculated, “you’re hoping for a threesome?”

He waggled his brows at Quentin then, knowing he was pushing his luck, but he couldn’t resist the urge to insert himself into Quentin’s relationships inappropriately. “Might not be the most romantic, though. Very off-brand. You’re not really a party boy.”

“Not romantic, no, but sounds like it could be fun. I mean, for a little bit. Then it would probably go really poorly.” Something about that thought seemed to preoccupy Quentin. “Probably better to go alone.”

Quentin looked sad as he sipped his wine. “Wanna get super plastered and make snowmen right now?”

Eliot nodded but murmured, “Patience, Q,” and nibbled his sandwich, needing to get at least some food in him before he launched into any taxing new endeavors. He snuggled Quentin as he ate, grateful that Quentin seemed reasonably interested in him, at least if his comments about flirting and a threesome being fun held true.

And Quentin _had_ been about to kiss him last night. It was promising, right?

Brooding on that, Eliot sipped his wine and added in a low whisper, “We’ll get just so, so plastered and end up rolling around wrestling in the snow trying to dodge light-up reindeer. Julia’s going to be so mad. I am a terrible influence.”

“Surely my true love can’t begrudge me making snowmen, right?” Quentin finished his sandwich and shifted to set his plate aside. When he returned to his spot, he turned and kissed Eliot on the temple and then settled in with his wine. “Or we can just sit here on the couch where it’s all warm and make a plan to start our own snowman army. One or two snowmen probably wouldn’t stand much of a chance against the reindeer, but an _army…_ ”

Quentin’s scheming caught Eliot off guard, startling a laugh out of him. He almost choked on a mouthful of sandwich, saved mostly by his lack of gag reflex, and washed it down with Riesling.

Then, still smirking, he said, “I thought you _loved_ the reindeer. Now you want to raise an army against them? Is this what you do when you grow bored with your playthings, Q? Devise a battle wherein you pit old loves against new and see who emerges victorious?” He elbowed Q gently so he’d know Eliot was joking and then sighed and relaxed back against the cushion, crossing his ankles on the ottoman. “You’re not as innocent as you put on.”

“I do love them! Snow wouldn’t really give them much of a contest either way, but I think they’d enjoy the fight. You should see how happy they are when they get to trample something. Like when that one trampled you. Pure joy.” Quentin snuggled against Eliot, resting his head on his shoulder, seeming more like he was on the way to a nap than starting a Christmas decoration civil war. He yawned. “Besides, it’s kind of cruel to make snowmen knowing they’re hopelessly outnumbered and likely to be crushed. Gotta give them some hope. Hope is what Christmas is all about.”

“Wise words.” Eliot spoke softly even as hope bloomed in his chest too. Hope _was_ what Christmas was all about.

The fire roared in the fireplace a few feet away, radiating heat and golden light, and Eliot performed a quick tut to dim the electric lights so he and Quentin could doze on the couch in the flickering shadows. There would be time yet for an epic Christmas decoration showdown. For now, though, Q was sugar crashing and more than a little tipsy. He needed his rest.


	6. Chapter 6

“Q, did you sleep out here?” Julia looked horrified as Quentin jolted awake, his head on Eliot’s lap.

Eliot had apparently fallen asleep against the couch and then slowly leaned over until he was using Quentin’s hip as a pillow.

“Huh? What?” Oh, his head _hurt._ “It’s too bright in here. Who made it so bright?”

“The sun, Q.” She sighed loudly and folded her arms. “I’ll make you some coffee. What happened?”

“Visited Alice.”

Julia narrowed her eyes at him. “I know Alice didn’t get you this drunk. She’s a—”

“A priestess. Yeah. I know that. Now.” Quentin shook Eliot, who he was pretty sure was pretending to be asleep so he wouldn’t have to face Julia’s wrath.

“Tell me you didn’t accuse her of giving you those gifts.” She wore a mixture of pity and glee on her face that Quentin thought was quite unflattering. “Q. Oh, Q.”

“I know, I know. But it’s pretty obvious now who it is, so…” Quentin wriggled out from under Eliot, pushing him to sit up on the couch.

“Poppy,” Julia said as Quentin said, “Penny.”

“Penny? No, not Penny, Q.” Julia looked truly annoyed. “It would be just like him to show up my wedding though, wouldn’t it?”

“Why would you think it was Poppy?” Quentin rubbed his temples and started to get up. The promised coffee didn’t seem to be forthcoming, and Eliot wasn’t going to help, so Quentin might as well help himself.

“She asks about you a lot. She calls you my handsome brother. She’s pretty cute in that uniform.” Julia led the way to the kitchen and started for the coffee maker. “She asked if you were coming to the wedding, so she knows you’re here.”

“The Hudson River dragon still wants to eat her, though. I mean, she’s really shady, Jules.” Quentin sat at the kitchen bar, letting her do the work.

“That was years ago. And yeah, she probably can’t go back to the City, but you could move back to Fillory. I dunno. I think it would just be nice.”

“Yeah, maybe. But where would she get the magic or the money—”

“Umber _loves_ her.” Julia set the machine on and rested against the counter.

“God of chaos isn’t exactly a ringing endorsement.”

“Would explain how creepy they kind of are.”

Quentin rubbed his forehead. “No, no. I mean, it’s obviously Penny. The company it’s going through is in Brooklyn-ish. They’re not _creepy_ ; they’re _beautiful_. And there has yet to be a surprise dragon. It’s Penny.”

Eliot dragged ass into the kitchen and slumped onto the stool next to Quentin’s, probably having determined Julia wasn’t in a yelling mood. He rested his hand on Quentin’s knee beneath the bar and folded his other arm across the bar to rest his cheek on it like a pillow. He looked less hungover than Quentin felt, but that was the magic of Eliot.

“ _Beautiful,”_ he agreed. “They’re beautiful. Not creepy. You’re just annoyed you didn’t plan something like this for your soon-to-be wife.”

Then, as if he hadn’t just painted a target on his back, he said, “Coffee?”

“I’m _annoyed_ that the specter of my soon-to-be-wife’s ex is looming over my whole wedding right now because of my _brother._ Neither of you find that weird?” She looked like she’d love to do nothing better than to kick the stool out from under Eliot. “Like, suddenly after Kady’s engaged, Penny is exploring his bisexual side? And Q… he’s a psychic. Are you sure he didn’t… incept you or something?”

Quentin let out a long sigh, trying to marshal his patience for her biphobia. “I’m sure, Jules. I’ve had crushes on men before.”

“But all of a sudden, you’re—”

Quentin threw his arms up. “It’s not even the first dick I’ve sucked, Jules. Back off.”

At that, Eliot looked suddenly wide awake. “Wait, what?”

He opened his mouth like he was going to demand answers, glanced at Julia, and then shut his mouth with a click of teeth. After a moment’s thought, he told Julia with a slight lilt of humor in his tone, “Penny’s always had a thing for Quentin. Hence the hostility. It’s pretty typical erstwhile straight boy behavior. I don’t think he’s trying to go through Quentin to get to Kady and wreck your nuptials, honestly.”

“Thank you, Eliot. Believe it or not, Julia, people _are_ attracted to me. And you’ve gotta admit… he was getting up in my face a _lot._ You were engaged to James before Kady. You know how this is.”

Julia narrowed her eyes at Quentin. “Did you suck James’s dick?”

“I… look, that’s not the point.”

“You are unbelievable.” Julia rolled her eyes as the coffee maker burbled its last. She got out three mugs, poured them each a black coffee, and set them out in front of Quentin and Eliot. “Stay away from Kady, you freak.”

Quentin smirked and took a sip of his coffee.

“So wait,” Eliot backtracked as he warmed his long fingers around the steaming mug. “You’ve had crushes on guys, and you have previously sucked non-Penny dicks. Is there some reason you never shared that with the class? And by the class, I mean me. My class. The elite class of the Physical Kids cottage. The ruling class. The class that deserved to know.”

“No one asked. I mean, isn’t everyone in the cottage pretty fluid?” That was part of what Quentin had loved about being there. Everyone seemed so comfortable with their sexuality. “Todd knew.”

Quentin sipped his coffee knowing that would likely make Eliot insane to ponder, even though he’d done absolutely nothing with Todd.

“Todd?” Eliot’s voice went up an octave. He gaped and blinked and scowled before staring darkly into his coffee. “Fucking Todd.”

Then Kady breezed into the kitchen, curls bouncing, eyes bright as she beelined for Jules and wrapped her arms around her from behind. “Hey,” she murmured as she kissed Julia’s cheek and snuggled her in what appeared to be a vigorous manner. “Thought you were coming back upstairs.”

Eliot looked up from his brooding to ask Kady, “Can you whisk your woman away and put her in a better mood? Maybe spend a little time just the two of you? Possibly with a soundproof charm on your bedroom?”

Laughing, Kady smoothed her hands over Julia’s belly and nuzzled her neck. “Are you giving the boys a rough time, babe? You know they’re a slow-motion trainwreck, but you don’t _have_ to engage. Except with me. We’re very engaged.”

“Yeah. Quentin and Eliot slept on the _couch_. And now Quentin is just down here fucking with us.” Julia snuggled against Kady but gave Quentin a narrowed eyed gaze. “You had me with James. I could see you having a crush on him, but Todd? That was too far.”

Quentin chuckled and shrugged noncommittally. “You can believe that if you want to.”

Before anyone could answer, the doorbell rang.

Quentin finished his cup of coffee and headed to the door. “Oh boy, I hope it’s another dick to suck!”

“Wait, Quentin, come back!” Eliot called after him. “I have one of those right here!”

Eliot and Kady laughed at that, and then they followed Quentin to the door, Kady dragging Julia along after her. When everyone had assembled, Quentin opened the door to reveal the usual suspects.

_“On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…five golden rings! Four colly birds, three French hens, two turtledoves, and a partridge in a pear tree.”_

Today, instead of a birdcage, there was what appeared to be a Victorian-style dollhouse, narrow and tall, with a Gothic-looking tower and turrets. The house itself was a delicate robin’s egg blue with white trim, and it was so perfectly detailed and ornate, Quentin could hardly believe it was for him and not the world’s most spoiled little princess.

Taking a deep breath, he reached for the door, which expanded as they had every day before, and revealed what looked like a gentleman’s manor dressing room on the other side. Quentin stepped through and was struck by the scent of pipesmoke and scotch, leather and fine wool. It smelled a little like Eliot.

This pocket dimension was small, just the size of a single, wondrously wrought room, with dark, rosewood-paneled walls and ingenious closets and cabinetry. Suits, sweaters, coats, and other essentials hung neatly around three sides, with a huge, ornate, full-length mirror hung behind him, next to the entrance. In pride of place was a valet stand with a gilded jewelry box atop it.

When Quentin touched it, it opened as if keyed to him, displaying five gold rings, each different than the others. One was a simple yellow gold band, a classic men’s wedding ring style. Another had a trio of small, Asscher-cut diamonds, continuing the wedding ring motif. The third appeared to be white, yellow, and rose gold braided together in an elegant band. The fourth was white gold studded with what looked like black opal, masculine and modern. The last, well. It was obviously not sized to fit Quentin’s fingers.

For once, maybe influenced by the smallness of the room, the others had stayed beyond the doorway, but Eliot leaned against the frame, watching.

Quentin picked up the bigger one, turning it over in his hand.

“Big for a ring, small for a bracelet.” He held it up for Eliot’s inspection. “Is it a necklace charm maybe?”

Eliot’s eyes sparkled with restrained mirth, and he made a choking sound as if doing his best not to laugh. He looked to Julia and raised a brow. “Did you have Earring Magic Ken growing up? That’s a collector’s item now. Among queer men. Because,” he continued, returning his glittering gaze to Quentin, “Ken’s necklace charm looked exactly like a cock ring.”

Kady burst into laughter at that, hanging onto Julia’s shoulder as she doubled over. “Oh my god. So romantic.”

“Oh my god, it is Penny, isn’t it?” Julia said, making a face as she turned to focus her attention on Kady.

Quentin felt his cheeks flush as he just about dropped it, then managed to juggle it back into his grip before setting it down. He picked up the other rings and put all four of them on, they all fit the finger he put them on perfectly, as if they had a resizer spell built in.

He turned around and wiggled his fingers. “ _Five golden rings_ , bitches!”

Clapping his hands together, he was strangely delighted. Rings. Actual rings, this person really wanted a serious commitment to him. “I feel like Eliot now, all these rings.”

Then, because he was really feeling himself and possibly still a little drunk, he held up his hand, pointed at it, and channeled his best Beyoncé. In falsetto, he sang, “If you liked it than you should’ve put a ring on it. Don’t be mad once you see that he want it. Oh, oh, oh.”

He threw himself into the dance, but there wasn’t really enough room, and he wound up knocking his hand against a paneled wall. “Ow! They’re right. Love hurts.”

Julia giggled. “I swear, Q. Didn’t we have a deal that you would never do that dance again?” She turned to the rest of the room. “He knows the _whole thing._ ”

“And yet you all doubt my queerness. I just…” Quentin massaged his injured hand, pouting playfully. “You weren’t paying attention. Wonder where my Dereon jeans wound up.”

“Those were _mine,_ Quentin.” Julia laughed and covered her face with her hand. “You’re right. We should’ve known.”

“I’m pretty sure they were mine. You never wore them.”

“You stretched them out!” Julia squeezed Kady close, her face lit up with amusement.

“I don’t remember that.” Quentin low key sang the song to himself, body shifting through the movements in the video.

“He has the most selective memory,” Julia said to Kady. “I was so mad at him. So _mad._ ”

Eliot was staring at Quentin as if he’d never seen him before, a gentle grin on his face. He looked both entertained and genuinely happy. Stepping into the dressing room, he opened a drawer in its center island, which revealed an array of scarves unmatched in all the world except for one place—Penny Adiyodi’s closet.

Kady hissed. “Shit. That is not a strong argument against Penny.” She gave Eliot an unreadable look and then snuggled into Julia, whispering something in her ear, probably reassuring Julia how over Penny she was.

And Quentin didn’t doubt that was true. Penny was a remarkable man, but Julia and Kady had been through so much together now. They had something special.

Apparently just not special enough that Julia would arrange for elaborate pocket dimensions to be delivered to Kady on each of the twelve days of Christmas. But someone _did_ find Quentin that special.

The idea that it was Penny was, well, a little unnerving now that Julia had pointed out he could be doing it to show her up. But would he go this far with rings and everything just to be petty?

Penny could be a dick, but Quentin didn’t think he was cruel.

“Wow, so… scarves, yeah.” That sobered Quentin up a bit, and he pulled the rings off and set them back in place. “Maybe I should just… wear one of those scarves. Then he’ll know I know.”

Quentin wasn’t honestly sure he was ready to marry Penny. The rings took on a more serious meaning now that he had a face to put with them. “I should probably go see him and… you know.”

“You think so?” Eliot asked quietly, studying Quentin. “If he’s behind all this, would it be enough to take him back?”

“I mean, if this was the plan the whole time. It’s really just… I’d at least owe him a shot, wouldn’t I?” Quentin looked through the scarves, picking out one that he liked, though he probably wouldn’t look as fashionable as Penny did. “What would you do if it were you getting these gifts, El?”

“You wouldn’t owe him _anything_ ,” Kady said, surprisingly passionate about it. “You never owe anyone anything, Quentin. Not Penny, not anyone.”

“She speaks the truth,” Eliot agreed. “Whoever did all this…you don’t owe them anything, Q. Someone, hopefully, did this for you because they love you and want you to see how much in a way that means something to you. But a grand gesture isn’t enough to make up for…”

Eliot trailed off as if he didn’t know what more to say, and Kady jumped back in the ring.

“Grand gestures don’t make up for it if you’re not in love, or don’t think you _can_ be in love, with the giver. So you know, whoever it is, give them a chance, but you’re not an object. They can’t buy your love with gifts.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Quentin squirmed past to escape the intensity of everyone staring at him so hard.

It was easy for them to say things like that; people had been in love with them. They’d been in love, real love.

Well, maybe not Eliot. But Eliot was so self-contained. He didn’t need anyone or seem to really want anyone, a fact Quentin was trying to acclimate to.

If this was Eliot…

Well, no point in thinking about that because it wasn’t. The best thing Quentin could do was move on before he complicated things with Eliot beyond fixing.

Henry was in the kitchen cooking up eggs, and Quentin bypassed him to serve himself more coffee and look for some bread to toast. Henry looked up and fixed Quentin with a knowing look.

“Five golden rings today, wasn’t it?” Henry flipped open the bread box, produced the loaf of bread, and pushed it into Quentin’s hands without asking. He always knew things, somehow. It was what he did. “How are you feeling about graduating from being the recipient of fowl to that of jewels?”

Quentin cut the bread and put a couple of slices in the toaster. “Um, I mean, it’s good, right? Someone cares, and it’s probably Penny, and I guess there’s sort of… It makes a strange kind of sense, doesn’t it? He always complained my thoughts kept leaking, like he couldn’t control hearing my thoughts. We kept getting thrown into situations together. Free travel.”

Henry snorted. “That’s not a ringing endorsement of your feelings, Quentin. I didn’t ask whether you believe Penny loves you. I was asking, in a subtle and therefore admittedly futile way, whether you are comfortable with that love.” His deep, mellow voice made everything sound so meaningful and weighty.

“Maybe I could be. Right now? I think… I think what I want isn’t what I’m going to get. I should try to figure out a way to live with that. That’s what growing up is, isn’t it?”

The toast popped up. It was kinda too hot to touch, but Quentin went with it, eating it straight from the machine.

“Quentin!” Henry chided, producing a small plate and nimbly stacking Quentin’s slices onto it. “You are a mess. Are you—”

Henry paused, looked Quentin up and down, and sighed. “You’re wearing yesterday’s clothes. I understand you’re very fond of that sweater, but you need to freshen up. Go upstairs and change. I’ll butter this and keep your toast warm until you return.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Everyone seemed to have vanished, probably not wanting to interrupt Quentin and Henry. Or get lectured by Henry. Or something. Henry definitely intimidated Eliot.

Quentin took his coffee upstairs with him. The shower was on. He should probably shower, too, but at the moment, he figured he might as well just change.

A pair of Dereon jeans lay on the bed. Quentin laughed. They were way too small for him or Julia now, but it was cute she remembered.

Instead he changed into a new pair of jeans and a Christmas sweater with a llama who was also wearing a scarf. It seemed the most appropriate if he was heading to New York City to see Penny.

Eliot emerged from the shower a few moments later, clad in his dressing gown, curls dripping in his face, usually neat beard overgrown. He looked a little ragged, like something was weighing on him. He brightened as he looked at Quentin, though, a little smile playing at his lips.

“Hey, Q. Um.” Eliot paused, looking Quentin over. “You look um. Cute. Can we…talk, for just a minute before you go?”

“Yeah. Of course.” Quentin sat down on the bed, not sure if Eliot was sincere about him looking cute, but he needed the confidence boost, so he decided to take the compliment.

He recalled inviting Eliot along the night before when he was drunk. That didn’t seem to be what Eliot was going to talk about, though.

Eliot sat beside Quentin on the bed, turned to face him, and gave him a long, analytical look. Then he combed his hand back through his hair, shoving the damp coils out of his face.

“So you’re going to go visit Penny. I, um…” Eliot pressed his lips together, obviously searching for the right words. He let out a shaky breath, like something was really getting to him. “Promise me one thing, will you, Q? I mean, I have no right to ask… But…”

“Anything.” Quentin scooted closer to Eliot and put his arm around him.

He seemed seriously upset and… maybe it was occurring to Eliot how their relationship might have to change if there was really someone else in it. Quentin kind of hoped Eliot would ask him not to go or to dismiss the whole gift thing, but he knew he wouldn’t. That wasn’t how Eliot worked.

Even if he did…then what?

He took Eliot’s hand and looked up at him.

“Will you just…promise me not to make any rash decisions before this thing runs its course? Don’t—If you see Penny, and he…responds favorably to your adorable scarf-wearing llama—which is so hideous it’s actually gone all the way back around to endearing—just…make him wait for it. I’m not…” Eliot frowned, his big hazel eyes gone soft and worried. “I’m not quite ready for things to change between us yet. I just need until Christmas. Can you give me that long?”

Eliot’s lips pursed in a perfect _kiss me_ pucker, and then he said, “Please?”

Quentin looked down at his sweater. He thought the llama in sunglasses was cool. It was his cool Christmas sweater. He pulled at it lightly, self-conscious. “What do you mean by rash decisions? Are you saying… you don’t want me to fuck him or you don’t want me to marry him?”

“Either? Both?” Eliot looked as discomfited as it was possible for Eliot to look. He threaded his fingers with Quentin’s and gazed into his eyes. “You are so unimaginably, unutterably precious, Q, and I just…”

Eliot sighed. “I need you to promise me you won’t let yourself be swept off your feet just yet. You know a change is coming. It’s inevitable. And all I want for Christmas, _all_ I want, is this one last week as your possibly codependent, definitely overinvolved best friend before the paradigm shifts and we have to figure out where we stand all over again.”

“Yeah. Yeah of course.”

Quentin wanted to swear to Eliot that nothing would change, that they could always be this to each other, but he knew that wasn’t true. Eliot knew it too. Part of Quentin wanted to throw caution completely to the wind and to confess that he was in love with Eliot and couldn’t really imagine being swept off his feet, but that wasn’t something he’d be able to walk back.

Plus, it definitely qualified as doing something _rash._

He wanted to confess that he wasn’t ready to let go of the dream of being with Eliot, but Eliot didn’t even know that was Quentin’s dream. It would be too much.

“For the record, I _did_ already give you a Christmas gift.” Quentin’s eyes filled, catching him off guard. He dabbed the tears away with his scarf. “I could… I could probably just call Penny.”

“Don’t trust yourself not to fall into bed or jet off to Vegas for a quickie wedding?” Eliot asked drily. He pulled Quentin closer and wrapped his arms around him, apparently in response to the tears. He was damp all over, the silk dressing gown clinging to his skin, and rivulets of water still coursed down his neck from his hair.

Quietly, Eliot said, “And I love my Christmas present, because it was perfect, because you are a thoughtful and devoted friend, but this last week before things change… Please. It would be the best gift I’ve gotten yet.”

“I trust myself. I just don’t want to worry you.” Quentin squeezed Eliot tight and tucked his face against his neck even though he was still wet. Maybe _because_ he was still wet and maybe Eliot wouldn’t notice the tears. “I mean, if it’s your Christmas present and everything.”

Truth was, it was more than likely Penny sending the presents, and maybe Quentin’s trepidation combined with Eliot’s worry would give him a convenient excuse to not deal with it until he had to.

“Or you could come with me. Be a chaperone.”

“Road trip?” Eliot intoned playfully, as if they hadn’t _just_ driven to New York City and back. He smoothed Quentin’s hair with one hand and rubbed his back with the other, more comforting than anyone else could be.

What would Quentin do if Penny asked him to give this up? To…marry him, as weird as that sounded?

“Everything’s more fun with you.” Quentin clung to Eliot. He couldn’t think about that right now. “I need to talk to Penny one way or the other. If he’s the one sending the presents, I should ask him to stop so Julia won’t be so upset. If it’s not him… Well, she probably won’t be as bothered, right? And I guess if I’m going to ask someone who loves me that much to stop sending presents, I should probably do it in person.”

“Right.” Eliot sounded a little shaky on the whole premise, distracted, like something else was on his mind, but he kissed Quentin’s hair and whispered, “It’s all going to work out, Q. Let Kady handle Julia.”

Then he motioned to himself and said, “If we’re going to see Penny, I need to put on my chaperone uniform. Excuse me a moment.”

Eliot extricated himself from Quentin’s grip and retreated back into the bathroom with several items on hangers. Lights flashed and odd sizzling sounds came from behind the closed door. Then, more recognizable, the sound of the electric beard trimmer.

When Eliot emerged, he was suited head to toe in regal purple pinstripes over a ruffled fuchsia dress shirt no one else could’ve ever pulled off. His curls were styled just so, one carefully dangling in the middle of his forehead. He did, in fact, look a bit like the hot young male version of some elderly lady chaperone.

“All right. Let’s go! We’ve powered through disco, ‘80s power ballads, and now you will have to endure ‘90s alternative. You drive, I control the music, and singing along is absolutely required by law.”

~*~

Nineties alternative really hit the spot, and Quentin yell-sang almost the whole way, leaving his voice a little bit raspy by the time they got to Penny’s apartment. He’d let the joy of the road and Eliot’s company soothe him into a place where he felt less nervous, but now as he knocked on Penny’s door, he tried to put on his bravest face. If Penny was in love with him, well, this was just part of their path.

When Penny opened the door, he was wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and his hair stuck up in all directions. He widened his eyes in surprise as he took in Quentin standing there and then frowned when he saw Eliot right behind him. “What are you doing here?”

Eliot helpfully said nothing.

“Um. I came to say I got your presents.” Quentin toyed with his scarf. As he did, he caught movement behind Penny. A young lady he didn’t recognize gave Quentin a little wave. She actually did look a bit like Kady. “But, you know, you seem busy.”

“Right. Yeah, I gave you the present before you left for Fillory. It’s no big deal.” Penny looked from Quentin to Eliot, his expression changing from a frown to revulsion. Then he looked back to Quentin and, suddenly, Quentin remembered that Penny knew how Quentin felt about Eliot, and all he had to do was say one wrong word and—

“Honestly, how are you two not banging yet?” Penny asked, affronted, and then he made a shooing gesture and closed the door in their faces.

“Um. Merry Christmas!” Eliot called after him. Then he looked at Quentin and raised a brow. “I’m thinking not him.”

“It’s not him.” Quentin turned, beaming as he threw himself at Eliot, hugging him tightly. “It’s not him!”

Eliot seemed bemused by Quentin’s excitement, but he hugged him back and nestled his chin atop Quentin’s head in that way El liked to do. “I didn’t expect you to be so delighted Penny broke up with you for real.”

Yeah. That was kind of a weird reaction, wasn’t it? Quentin shouldn’t be jumping up and down and so relieved. Even if it wasn’t Penny, there still was _someone._ Things would change.

“Well, I mean, it’s good that things won’t be awkward with Julia, right?”

Of course, that left Poppy. That was… less exciting.

Quentin twined their fingers together and exhaled slowly as he pulled back to meet Eliot’s gaze. “And, hey, great job chaperoning.”

Eliot preened and did a little curtsy before straightening. “Let’s go back to Fillory and build that army of snowmen. Maybe Kady and Julia will help us.”

“Maybe! I have a feeling they’ll both be relieved and ready for some senseless Christmas violence.” Quentin pulled Eliot with him to the elevator and back to the car.

As they went, the relief wore off, and Quentin started to feel a little sorry for himself. He would’ve been lucky to have had Penny. He really was a catch. So was Alice when he thought about it. Poppy… was worrisome and not necessarily someone he even wanted to be with.

Poppy always felt more like someone who had happened to him than someone he wanted in his life. Still, she was beautiful and rather funny. Charming when she wanted something.

The one nice thing about Penny, if it had been him, was that Penny had his own thing going. He might not have really insisted on a lot of changes. Poppy, well, she couldn’t really even leave Fillory.

By the time they got back in the car, Quentin had gotten a full brood on.

“I think we need some Alice in Chains.” Quentin paused and furrowed his brows. “The band, I mean. I don’t think I’m allowed to chain Alice up anymore.”

“Anymore! You dog!” Eliot sounded delightfully scandalized and cued up _Down in a Hole_ next. “So many things I didn’t know about you until this trip. I had no idea you were full of such unanticipated depths.”

“Depths?” Quentin laughed as he nosed his car from the parking spot and into traffic. “Doesn’t everyone have a _Fifty Shades of Grey_ phase? Probably super vanilla compared to your sexcapades. Anyway, you don’t usually ask, and you get annoyed when I volunteer things. You’re very in the moment.”

“That is not the first time I’m hearing that,” Eliot replied crisply. “However, I do enjoy having a more rounded picture of you as a human being who has sucked more than one dick and is not afraid of a little bondage.”

“I can’t believe that you didn’t know that. I’m sure I must’ve mentioned it to you. Or maybe it was Todd I told it to.” Quentin pressed his lips together and looked at Eliot from the corner of his eye.

“Fucking Todd!” Eliot blustered, predictably, smacking his hand against the dashboard with a dramatic flourish. He seemed poised on the verge of a rant when he caught Quentin looking at him and narrowed his gaze. “You. You’re trolling me, Fogg. I can’t believe this!”

Eliot rolled his eyes and slumped back in his seat, torso turned toward Quentin. Then something else seemed to occur to him, and he grew quiet for a few moments. The song played on, Layne Staley wailing, and Eliot joined in, warbling along pitifully. Somehow he made that sound good.

Quentin laughed and elbowed Eliot. “Honestly, I did have some good conversations with Todd sometimes. He did a lot of work for my dad, so he was around on and off. I did not suck his dick. He may have been the only genuinely straight person in the cottage.”

Eliot gave Quentin a pitying look. “Todd was _not_ straight. Apparently he had terrible taste though, because he should’ve been putting the moves on you. You were by far the cutest boy in your year.”

“Oh, go on.” Quentin rolled his eyes, feeling his cheeks grow hot. “Well he seemed to think so when we talked about it. I guess… you know from experience.”

That made Quentin wrinkle his nose, but he wasn’t going to think about it. Instead, he joined in singing along to Alice in Chains.


	7. Chapter 7

This was, Eliot reflected as he gazed at Quentin’s contented expression, working out very well. The master magicians at Free Trader Beowulf had seriously questioned Eliot’s judgment—and his vision—but he’d only cared if they could _deliver_. And they really had.

After Penny made it obvious it wasn’t him—and Quentin had relayed to Julia said news—things got a little more relaxed. Quentin had declared he wasn’t going to guess anymore, just wait and find out, which was what Eliot had wanted all along. He’d hoped Quentin would just…live in the moment, just a little, and take each day with anticipation and joy, letting the mystery unfold gradually.

Of course, Eliot hadn’t accounted for Quentin’s neuroses or Julia’s irritation in all that.

Well, it had been done on short notice. He felt like, all things considered, he was delivering well on the _grand romantic gestures_ even if his overall execution might be a little haphazard.

Last night, Eliot, Quentin, Kady, and Julia had all made snowmen to fight the reindeer army. That had been fun in its own chaotic way, but this was more Eliot’s speed: sprawled in a springtime formal garden in bloom, beside a perfectly manicured and cultivated clearwater pond, lounging on six geese a-laying. Geese were notoriously foul-natured creatures, but these…

Well, these were designed on the conceit of goose-down pillows, but they were animated. These geese were massive, fluffy body pillows whose aggressive drives had simply been replaced with the desire to cuddle and lounge around pondside. They were also water-repellant in the same way real geese were, but Eliot thought it would be giving too much away to inform Quentin the pillows could also be used as floats.

When Eliot had storyboarded all this for Pouncy Silverkitten, Pouncy had looked at him like he was crazy, but seeing it all come to fruition… Well. Sometimes Eliot was crazy like a fox.

Or not a fox. Unpleasant Alice associations.

Crazy like something that wasn’t a fox but was also renowned for its cleverness. Whatever that was.

It was difficult to think when watching Quentin so utterly blissed out as he cuddled a living pillow bigger than he was, sprawled out on close-cropped, velvety emerald grass in his pajamas.

Kady and Julia had laid claim to one of the huge goose pillows, the two of them giggling as it preened and groomed Kady’s hair. They looked so happy together, such a perfect couple.

Suppressing a sigh, Eliot turned his attention back to Quentin, who was also getting groomed and looked both awkward and over the moon about it. Unable to resist, Eliot abandoned his own pillow to stalk over and join Quentin on his.

Flopping down opposite Quentin on the broad pillow, Eliot said, “I was chased by a goose once, in my childhood. I still bear the scars.

“Mentally,” he amended after a beat. “Not physically.”

“Really? I was too! I’d say it was coincidence, but geese are really mean. But not this one.” Quentin stroked the goose’s neck lovingly as it toyed with his hair. It paused to fuss over Eliot a little too. “I was low key worried that I was going to walk into geese laying a bunch of eggs.”

Quentin snuggled against the goose’s warm pillow body, smiling sweetly. “So soft.”

His eyes widened as the goose stood. It didn’t lift them far from the ground, but it was felt.

It waddled closer to the water. Quentin sat up on his elbows, looking past the goose’s neck.

“Oh no! Where are you going? You’re gonna get soggy!”

But the goose simply stepped into the water and floated, rocking them gently. Eliot adjusted himself closer to center, and Quentin had the same idea. They huddled together on the center of the pillow, trying not to get their extremities wet.

“Goose feathers repel water,” Eliot noted as they flowed lazily along the pond’s surface. “I guess our goose-down pillow doubles as a pool float.”

Kady and Julia’s delighted laughter carried to them, and they waved. Kady called, “By far the best geese I’ve ever met.”

“They really are.” Quentin scooted closer, pressing his face to Eliot’s chest, getting cozy and comfortable. There was a lot less tension in him since he’d apparently decided to give up the chase and just enjoy the presents.

Even better, he seemed to want to enjoy the present with Eliot.

There was a splash, and a spray of water hit them.

“Q! Eyes on the prize!” Julia shouted at him.

Quentin cuddled tighter against Eliot. “Splash her back, El. Make her regret it.”

Eliot wasn’t sure he wanted to go up against Julia… But then, Quentin was so snuggly and cute. Eliot couldn’t let him down.

Moving his fingers in a telekinetic tut, Eliot gathered an orb of pondwater in a blink and hurled it at Julia. It burst over her, catching her by surprise, and if Kady got a little wet too… Well, Kady had said she was in it for better or worse.

Or would be saying that. Really, Eliot was doing her a favor by demonstrating what “worse” might entail.

Julia squealed, and Eliot would’ve been worried, but she was laughing. She sent back a huge wave that threatened to topple their goose pillow. It didn’t, quite, but it was a near thing.

It left them drenched though, and Quentin looked up from Eliot’s chest, beaming at him before he turned around. “Again! Do that again!”

Julia rolled her eyes. “ _Quentin_! What would your true love say with you hanging off Eliot like that?”

“Enjoy your present?” Quentin said as he started a tut.

“I don’t think Eliot is your present.” Julia raised her brows, but she was smirking.

That seemed to embarrass Quentin. “My real true love would understand we are a package deal.”

“That’s right,” Eliot agreed, smiling at Quentin. “We _are_ a package deal. Clearly whoever’s so in love with Quentin must understand that he’s a very loyal and devoted friend.”

Kady snorted and gave Eliot a look before sending a shock of magic at him that blew his hair back. It would’ve been annoying, but it wasn’t like he’d styled it yet, and it had gotten wet anyway, and Kady’s spell had the effect of getting the damp, straggly curls out of his face, so he just blew her a kiss.

He stroked Quentin’s cheek and gazed into his eyes before leaning in and kissing his forehead chastely. Julia clearly did not appreciate the effort Eliot put in to keep things appropriately platonic on his side.

And he failed to understand what about Quentin being snuggly was inappropriate. Quentin was a cuddler. It was just how he was wired. Quentin had been cuddling Eliot almost since the very beginning of their friendship. He’d imagined Julia would know her brother better.

“If they didn’t want me in here cuddling Eliot, they’d reveal themselves.” Quentin said it dismissively before releasing his spell. It didn’t affect Julia and Kady at all, instead conveying Eliot and Quentin’s goose on a big wave that sent them surfing away from the girls.

Quentin stood on the goose, holding its neck, facing where they were going. The wind blew in his hair, sending it streaming back gloriously. It sent them to the furthest part of the pond before letting them down gently. “I know we just got up but… I’d kind of like a nap. You?”

“Sleepy already?” Eliot teased, but he was already positioning himself to make a comfy cuddle spot for Quentin. “All right. Napping it is. Still plenty of time to get our work done, right?”

“Yeah. We don’t usually really get rolling until the afternoon anyway.” That was true; they weren’t morning people, in general. Eliot had just made the decision to have the presents arrive in the morning to be sure they were going to be around.

And they had been up late watching the Battle at Fogg Home as Quentin had called it, which was apparently a nerd joke around _Game of Thrones_ that Eliot still hadn’t gotten around to reading or watching. It wasn’t really much of a battle considering the animals couldn’t be reduced easily to slush, but some of those snowmen were surprisingly fast, so the hunt had lasted until nearly dawn.

Quentin settled back down on the back of the goose after checking that Kady and Julia weren’t headed their way. “You think Julia could be right?”

“About what? Your true love?” Eliot asked, already yawning now he’d decided he was going back to sleep. He stretched and drew Quentin’s head down to rest on his chest the way he liked. “Julia’s very smart, and she’s often right, but sometimes she’s really not, and you should probably remember that.”

Eliot yawned again, helpless beneath the pocket dimension’s warm sunshine, and smiled. “It’s all going to work out, Q. Just enjoy each day as it comes. You’re special to someone. That should be a good feeling.”

“Yeah. It is. But do you think it could be Poppy?” Quentin snuggled in closer.

Maybe letting him think it was Poppy was a safe choice. He didn’t seem inclined to want to talk to her, though that could change.

Quentin sighed. “Kind of running out of options unless it’s just a really big fan who is also a stalker. Which… is a little like Poppy in a way.”

“I think when you find out who it is, it’s all going to make sense, and everything will be perfect.” Eliot kissed Quentin’s hair and added, “If it was Poppy, then I suppose that wouldn’t be very surprising. She already seems to want to revisit your past glories. And possibly arrest me.” The last was said wryly, but Eliot didn’t put it past Poppy.

Not that Fillory had a jail or a legal system as far as he could tell. Magic-users were pretty self-policing, in general.

“Also, Poppy would probably accept a package deal,” Eliot added with a certain sardonic humor. “If that’s really what you’re after, Q.”

“What you said about things changing… I don’t… No one’s going to replace you, Eliot. No matter what. So yeah, we’re a package deal. They have to accept that. I guess that’s why it’s been so hard for people to get close...” Quentin trailed off there as if he could see the problem with that objectively, but he clung to Eliot tighter. As if in defiance.

It felt good and made Eliot relax as he stroked Quentin’s hair, feeling him drift off.

Eliot’s smiled to himself, peering out at the pond. His curious gaze met Julia’s glare. He gave a little wave, but she just stared.

~*~

The nap lasted longer than Quentin had planned, not that he’d really had plans. He was trying to stay happily plan-free. Let things play out. Live in the moment.

Someone loved him, and that was a good thing. He didn’t have to let that change anything he didn’t want it to change. Things weren’t spiraling out of his control. If anything, it was all more in his control than it ever had been.

Back to the house, Eliot was itching to work. Quentin writing words easily outpaced Eliot in the classic struggle of writer and artist, so Quentin took the opportunity to take a long, luxurious shower with a nice, leisurely wank during which he imagined a life where Eliot was the one behind the presents.

For jerk off fodder, Quentin was filled with remarkably wholesome thoughts, followed by far less wholesome thoughts that Eliot probably would’ve approved of.

Quentin came out wrapped up in his soft, beige terrycloth robe, hair still dribbling. He wasn’t surprised someone was in his room but was very surprised that it wasn’t Eliot.

“Hey, Q,” Julia said as she patted the spot next to her on the bed. She had a bottle of wine in her hand and seemed to have been drinking for at least as long as he was in the shower.

“Hey. You all right?” Quentin sat down, immediately concerned that she and Kady were fighting. The door was shut, and there was what felt like warding around the room.

“I’m fine. It’s you I’m worried about.” She passed him the bottle.

He examined it. “Nice cabernet to be day drinking from the bottle. Why are you worried about _me_? I’m not the one getting married. Sure you’re not projecting?”

Julia’s expression turned stony. “No, Q. I’m not projecting. Kady and I are solid. We’re honest with our feelings, even when it came to that mess with Penny. Hard as it may be for you to believe, not everyone lies to each other about how they feel.”

 _Ouch._ “Sorry. Jesus, Jules.” Quentin took a long swig of wine.

“I know that was harsh, but Q… I just can’t watch you in this death spiral with Eliot again. I just can’t.”

“Death spiral?” Quentin took another long swig of wine. “That’s dramatic. We are work partners on a very successful book and best friends. That’s neither death nor a spiral.”

“But you’re still looking for love. You know there’s something missing. You are in love with Eliot, and you deserve to have someone who returns that love.” Julia sat back, watching Quentin take another long swig of the wine.

“Yeah, okay. Sure.” Quentin looked at the window wondering how bad it would be to jump out of it to avoid this conversation. “I mean, we love each other. It’s fine.”

“He loves you, I know. But you’ve been throwing yourself at him for years now. You’ve crashed and burned every relationship, no matter how promising—”

“Penny wasn’t promising.”

Julia rolled her eyes. “Penny. You weren’t serious about Penny. That’s probably the _only_ reason you lasted that long with him. He knew you were in love with someone else. That was probably two thirds of the appeal to him. No strings attached.”

“Julia.” Quentin clutched the wine against his chest, gutted not because she was harsh but because she was probably right.

“I mean, he’s _psychic_ , Q. There’s no way he missed you’d rather be fucking Eliot. It reverberates through you so obviously even _Todd_ guessed it.”

“Julia. Just… stop. Okay? Stop.” Quentin scooted back from her on the bed, but he knew she was going to come in for the kill.

“There’s no way Eliot doesn’t know you’re in love with him. The only reason he isn’t seeing it is because _he doesn’t want to_. He _doesn’t want that with you_. I’m tired of you getting close, of you having a relationship, and then shutting it all down because Eliot snaps his fingers and inevitably breaks your heart.”

“He doesn’t snap his fingers.” It was getting hard for Quentin to breathe. He felt sick to his stomach and his head hurt. He just wanted her to leave, but he couldn’t make himself say so.

Julia leaned forward, getting into his face. “He doesn’t even have to, Q. That’s the really sad thing. You keep tying yourself up in knots to see what you want to see. Even though he _told you_ it wasn’t him sending the presents, you think it might just be, don’t you? _That’s_ why you’re letting it play out.”

Quentin stared at her, feeling the tears build up and crest over his eyelids. He could barely speak. “Julia.”

“And when you find out who it really is, when it’s inevitably _not_ Eliot, your heart will be broken. You won’t give the poor idiot who loves you this much a chance. You’ll mope, Eliot will leave you alone for a couple of weeks, and you’ll be right back to it as if nothing happened. And you’ll be just as lonely as you always are, and Eliot will keep fucking his boy toys, and you’ll indulge in some meaningless fling that you won’t be able to bring yourself to be serious about.”

The tears streaked down his cheeks. “Is that really what you think of me? That’s what you think…”

“That’s what _everyone_ thinks, Q. I thought you’d grow out of it, but you have this romantic notion of who Eliot is, and he’s not that. Everyone sees that but you.” Julia wiped away Quentin’s tears. She looked incredibly sad, which only made everything worse.

He wished she was angry with him or had some nefarious reason for confronting him with this, but the fact was, she did love him. He knew that no matter how cruel this felt, she did it because she cared.

Quentin wiped his own face, letting himself admit that he had thought maybe it really was Eliot and that everything would be all right. “You really think it’s Poppy?”

“I don’t know. I just know who it isn’t. You’re the one who told me who it wasn’t. And let’s be real, Q, this isn’t fair to Eliot either. You put all these wants and needs on him that he doesn’t want.”

Quentin nodded and looked down, feeling more tears spilling out because he knew he did that. He could feel Eliot’s discomfort. “You’re right.”

Julia scooted closer and hugged him, holding him tighter than he remembered her ever doing before. “I’m sorry, Q. I really am. I wish it was him, too. I really do. I’d love for you to be happy, to be with him if that’s what you wanted. You know that, right? I don’t hate Eliot.”

She didn’t, and that made it worse somehow. “Yeah. I know. I know.”

Julia was crying too now. “I want to hate him, but he’s just so fucking loveable. I mean, I get it.”

Quentin just nodded, miserable beyond words.

“I love you. I want you to be open for whoever this is. Even if it’s Poppy, okay?” She pulled back and pushed his hair from his face. “Okay?”

“Mm,” was all Quentin could manage. He’d hurt so badly that now he was just numb. Or maybe it was the wine.

She got up, wiping her face, and nodded. “Good talk.”

Quentin finished the bottle of wine and set it on the floor as she headed for the door.

She glanced back and gave him a wan smile. “I’ll get you another.”

~*~

Eliot worked on panels for hours, composing and sketching and bringing to the art all the hand-drawn authenticity and finesse that characterized _A Flock of Lost Birds_ to its loyal fans. He used some magic to stabilize his strokes and occasionally fixed his mistakes with a light touch of enchantment, but no one really needed to know that.

Except Quentin, of course, who spent all evening drinking wine and watching Eliot work. He didn’t actually _talk_ to Eliot, which was just as well because Eliot needed to concentrate, but it _was_ unusual.

Clearly something had happened when Quentin fucked off to shower. Quentin being Quentin, he would eventually either snap out of it and get on with his life, talk about it, or require a major reality check, which often it was Eliot’s duty to provide. It was early days for that yet, though, and it seemed likely tomorrow morning’s present would jolt Quentin out of his funk, whatever that funk might be.

Eventually Quentin fell asleep on the couch in the game room, snoring gently in his drunken way as Eliot took full advantage of the last of the day’s natural light pouring in through the skylight above. It wasn’t until the sun had long since gone down that Eliot stopped. He tried to wake Q, who resolutely refused to do more than squirm and hide his face in the couch cushions, and then headed down to dinner.

They saved a bowl of the minestrone for Q, and Eliot took his upstairs to try tempting Q into wakefulness with its aroma. When that didn’t work, he sat on the end of the sofa, picked up Q’s socked feet, and dropped them into his lap as Eliot ate his food.

Kady came up the stairs slowly, almost as if she was trying not to be heard. In fact, she wasn’t heard, but her shadow from downstairs loomed large. At the top of the stairs, she took in the scene, then made her way over to Eliot. “How’s drunky?”

“Still snoozing,” Eliot murmured quietly between bites of soup. He dunked his crusty bread in the broth and nommed on that before motioning to Kady she could sit in the recliner off to the side. “How’s Julia?”

“She’s great. You know, relieved that Penny isn’t trying to show her up. I told her it wasn’t him, but you know how stubborn people who live in this house can be.” Kady glanced at Quentin as she took a seat on the recliner. “The wedding is coming together, which is good. Think she’s worried someone is going to have a big scene during the ceremony. Nerves, you know. They’re kind of two sides of the same coin. He drinks; she… gets very controlling.”

“Quentin does enjoy self-medicating, if enjoy is the right word for it,” Eliot acknowledged. He gave Kady a faint smile, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Do you know what…led to this little episode?”

“I know they had a chat. The contents of the chat she would not tell me, but El… I think you need to tell him.” She gave him a meaningful look. “We can continue this conversation elsewhere if you’d rather.”

Eliot frowned into his soup, avoiding Kady’s gaze. She was so rational, so effective. Her entire personality was one of Getting Shit Done. Eliot could _not_ relate.

“I’m not ready.” He shoved some bread in his mouth, because eating his feelings was one of the earliest skills he’d mastered.

She gestured at Quentin and tilted her head. Her voice pitched low, she said, “There’s six more days. He’ll die of alcohol poisoning at this rate.”

“What? Not dying.” Quentin popped his head up and sniffed in Eliot’s direction. “Is that food?”

“Do you want some? We saved you a bowl. It’s minestrone and fresh bread.” Eliot spooned up a mouthful, set his bowl on the end table, and offered the bite to Q, one hand holding the spoon and one hand cupped beneath it. “You’re going to be feeling it tomorrow if you don’t eat something and hydrate, Q.”

Quentin opened his mouth and took the bite. He chewed slowly, gazing hard at Eliot. While he looked on the verge of tears, that might’ve just been the bloodshot eyes from drinking all day. “You wanna take care of me, El? Why you wanna take care of me?”

Kady got up and headed downstairs.

Eliot shot her a pleading look, which she either didn’t see or chose to ignore, and then redirected his attention to drunken Q. “Of course I want to take care of you, Q. You’re my Quentin. I don’t have any other Quentins, so you’re basically an endangered species. I am required by sacred oath to preserve your health and wellness.”

He carefully prepared another bite and held it out. “Want some more? It’s pretty good, huh? Henry made it.”

Henry had, in fact, started making it when it became apparent Quentin was drinking himself into a stupor. Minestrone was high quality hangover-prevention.

“Henry loves me.” Quentin smiled before he took another bite.

Kady bounded back up the stairs with a bottle of water. “Everyone loves you, Q.” In an aside to Eliot, she said, “Henry says this is enchanted. Get as much of it into him as you can.”

“Not as much as I love them.” Quentin frowned and looked around the room. “Where’s my bed?”

“In your bedroom,” Eliot replied evenly, trying to hold it together. Part of him wanted to confess everything to Quentin, to make some bold declaration of love he wasn’t entirely ready for—part of the beauty of this countdown to Christmas was that Eliot got time to prepare himself—but the rest of him was convinced Quentin wouldn’t remember any of this anyway.

He took the bottle of water from Kady and popped open the sport top. “Open your mouth, Q. We’re going to play a game.”

“Oh no, I’m not falling for that again. Not to kink shame, but I have my limits.” Quentin covered his mouth with his hands, leaving Kady and Eliot to trade looks and puzzle over what that could possibly mean. Eliot’s one strong idea was just…no. Not sweet, innocent Q.

“Q, I’m here too. Nothing kinky is going to happen.” She paused. “To you.” Another pause. “Right now.”

“Right. Exactly. I’m just going to make you drink some spring water. It’ll be delicious and not at all kinky.” Eliot aimed the nozzle at Q’s hands and gave a little squirt. “Open up.”

“Kady.” Quentin turned his face just as the water came out, and he squinted. “What the... Why was that cold?”

“It’s water, Q.” Kady eyed Eliot, took the water bottle, and put the tip against Quentin’s lips. “Just water, all right? You’re, um, going to want to swallow.”

“That’s what he said!” Quentin said, laughing briefly before taking a drink from the bottle.

“There you go. There’s a little sedative in there so he’ll sleep most of it off.” Kady held the bottle and moved back so Eliot could take it. “Guess if there’s anything you want from Quentin, now is the time to ask.”

“Or not,” Eliot retorted, giving Kady a scandalized look before he realized she probably meant _information_. Then, sheepishly, he encouraged Quentin to drink some more water. After he swallowed, Eliot asked, “How are you feeling? Think you might want to get up and get in bed?”

“Is Kady coming?” Quentin reached out and petted her hair. “You’re so pretty. You know that, right? You’re pretty.”

“Thanks, Q. Um, I can help you and Eliot get you into bed. You want that?”

“More food.” Quentin pushed up to sit and looked around. “You know who else is pretty?”

Kady held her hands up to indicate Eliot.

Quentin nodded. “Isn’t he so pretty? Look at that face.” He got hold of Eliot’s chin, held it up briefly, and then let go. “Julia is pretty, too.”

“How are you so fucking cute, Q?” Eliot marveled at Quentin’s sheer adorableness and sighed as he spooned up another bite of food for him. “Here, have some food, drunkard.”

He glanced at Kady and pursed his lips, trying not to be totally visibly besotted and probably failing. Quentin shouldn’t need a confession when anyone could look at Eliot and see how he felt.

Kady must’ve been thinking that as she grinned at Eliot and shook her head. “You’re both messes. Just, keep in mind that too much medicating can lead to poor decision making, right?”

“Right.” Quentin nodded sagely. “I promise not to suck any dicks tonight.”

“A good rule for the road.” Kady raised her brows and rubbed the back of her neck as Quentin gobbled down another couple of bites of food.

Eliot couldn’t help loving this, even with its total lack of dicksucking. It was amazing just sitting here with a friend and co-conspirator like Kady, fussing over his Q, letting all his emotions blaze out as he fed Quentin bites of soup and crusty, buttery bread, occasionally dabbing his chin with a napkin and generally doting shamelessly.

Maybe he wasn’t entirely ready for the whole… Well, marriage seemed like much even after the turtledoves and five golden rings, and Eliot still needed some time to prepare for those conversations, but he very much wanted to do _this,_ to cherish and protect in drunkenness and health, or however the vows were supposed to go, which honestly he wasn’t totally clear on, and he would certainly be writing his own vows, thank you very much.

When Quentin paused in his noshing for a moment, Eliot was at the ready with the water bottle, getting some more water in him and watching Quentin drink it with the same avid interest he imagined parents of newborns felt watching their small humans get the hang of nursing.

“You’re doing amazing, sweetie,” Eliot intoned. “Just a little more, and then you can go get in bed, all right?”

“Okay. I’m getting sleepy.” Quentin nodded and then suckled the bottle again, and really Eliot needed to stop thinking this way or it might turn into a fetish.

“I’ll stick around and help if you need me. I know Quentin is made of lead, so you might need help moving his massive body.” Kady grinned, seeming to enjoy the moment as well. “Get you into bed and have Eliot take care of you so I can read over your pages and spoil myself on the story.”

“Hey!” Quentin held up his finger at her. “No spoilers. No one gets spoilers. Unless you wanna trade spoilers and tell me who hired Free Trader Beowulf.”

“Oh, nice try.” Kady laughed. “I’ll give you a hint… the person is probably a lot closer than you think.”

Quentin blinked slowly and frowned. “So in Fillory?”

“You could say that. Yeah. In Fillory.”

That seemed to depress Quentin. He let out a long sigh and flopped against the back of the couch. “Why is it so hard to be loved?”

“You’re making it harder than it really is, Q,” Eliot grumbled, shooting Kady a look. Of course, Quentin probably wouldn’t remember this tomorrow, so Kady giving away that she knew the identity of the gift-giver likely didn’t matter. “All right, I think you’ve had enough. Let’s get you to bed."

Without a word, Kady got up, moved to the other side of Quentin, and helped him up. Quentin let out another long-suffering sigh, but mostly walked on own toward the bedroom. Only a couple of stumbles.

“I’m not supposed to let Eliot sleep with me, I don’t think.”

Kady frowned. “I would feel better if Eliot were in here with you tonight. Will you let him stay here for me?”

“Don’t tell Julia,” Quentin said in an exaggerated whisper.

“Don’t worry about Julia, Q. You just get some rest.” She cupped Quentin’s face and then leaned in and kissed his forehead. Then she turned to Eliot and kissed his cheek. “Take care of our baby, Eliot.”

“Scout’s honor,” Eliot murmured, giving Kady a little hug. Then, drawing away, he smirked at her and said, “I got kicked out of scouts.”

Grinning, he followed Q to the bed and fluffed the pillows for him, making everything as comfortable as possible. “Climb in, Q. Time to be a pitiful little drunk in a big comfy bed. This is where everything gets so much better.”

Truly, there was nothing like being rampantly drunk and finally setting one’s head down on the fluffiest, coolest pillow imaginable.

Kady watched for a moment and then headed off.

“Why were you kicked out of scouts? Not being prepared? Doesn’t sound like you.” Quentin sat down and started to pull off his sweater.

At the best of times he seemed to have trouble with this maneuver. Now he seemed hopelessly caught in a struggle, his arms trapped above him, face straining against the fibers.

“Oh, Q,” Eliot whispered fondly as he moved to stand in front of Quentin and help him tug off his sweater.

He really was impossibly cute, wasn’t he? It filled Eliot’s heart to bursting, and he felt a deep certainty he was doing the right thing. Quentin would find out on Christmas and be surprised—at least, apparently, since he didn’t seem at all convinced Eliot was the one behind all this, which Eliot was trying not to take personally since he’d purposefully thrown him off the scent—and they’d have their big romantic moment, a once in a lifetime gesture of true love.

As he got the sweater moving again, peeling it off Quentin’s arms, Eliot explained, “Scouts don’t especially like gay kids. By the time I was in high school, they feared for the virtue of my peers.”

“Gay people exist. You’d think they’d _be prepared_ for that.” Quentin’s hair was filled with static and sticking out everywhere. He undid his jeans and kicked out of them, leaving his socks on, and then rolled onto his side. “Scouts wasn’t really a thing here. Christianity really isn’t a thing here except when it involves a party we like. But my understanding is that Christianity did the same thing to pagan rituals, so it all comes out in the wash.”

That really explained so much about Quentin’s apparent lack of concern around his sexual identity.

“I kind of like it here,” Eliot admitted as he walked around to his side of the bed. “It’s nice being somewhere that absolutely nobody has a bad thing to say about Julia and Kady’s same-sex wedding, but we still get to have Christmas. It’s really a top-notch arrangement. Kudos to whoever thought that up.”

He undressed without fanfare, stripping down to his boxers as he usually did—at least, when he wore anything at all—and then climbed into bed beside Quentin. He performed a cleansing charm on each of them since there was no way he was getting Quentin to wash his face or brush his teeth otherwise, and then settled into the pillows, facing Quentin. 

“Yeah, it’s nice. Quaint. A small town in many ways though, you know in that way where people get in each other’s business. I kind of like the anonymity in the City. And the food. And the shows. And the diversity. Fillory’s not far. You’d get bored in a small town.” Quentin scooted closer to Eliot and tucked in under his chin.

It felt almost like a rebuke, throwing Eliot’s admittedly short attention span back in his face, and Eliot wrapped his arms around Quentin somberly. It was true he got bored. With people, with places, with things. He craved adventure and novelty, a sybaritic lifestyle full of sound and color, endless pleasure and entertainment. But who didn’t?

Snuggling Quentin, Eliot said quietly, “I’d be happy wherever you are, Q.” After a moment he added, “But New York _is_ excellent.”

“Yeah? I like New York with you, but I like Fillory with you, too. Just a car ride away.” Quentin sounded weary, probably the sedatives in the water. His breath deepened again and then he snorted, seeming to shake awake briefly to mumble, “I really like your hair.”

Eliot suppressed a laugh. “I like yours too,” he whispered, giving Quentin a squeeze. “Sweet dreams, Q.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Quentin. I thought we talked about this.”

Quentin’s eyes fluttered open, and all he saw was Eliot’s bare chest, though he heard Julia’s voice. He looked over Eliot’s shoulder to see Julia leaning in the doorway. So much for not letting her know.

He groaned and squeezed Eliot briefly before detangling from his limbs. “Yeah, yeah.”

“I made coffee and French toast. Come on down.” Julia gave him an indulgent smile as if all was forgiven.

She didn’t need to forgive him. It wasn’t her place. He was letting himself down if anything.

Fortunately, he didn’t have much of a hangover from alcohol, but he was extremely groggy from what had been in the potion included in the water. Or maybe depression was just making him tired. Either way, French toast sounded good.

He shook Eliot. “French toast.”

Eliot sighed and squinted up at Quentin, eyelashes fluttering against the morning light. “French toast?” He yawned, one fist pressed into his open mouth, and then stretched every inch of his long, lean body. Quentin had to avoid looking. Then Eliot asked, “Coffee?” and reached up to boop Quentin’s nose. “Shocked you’re awake before me.”

Quentin pointed over Eliot’s shoulder to where Julia stood. “I guess I’m very attuned to my sister’s voice. If I don’t wake up when she commands, things get… sticky. Or wet. Or just plain violent.”

Julia laughed. “One time I played a prank. _Once._ ”

“Once, right.” Quentin rolled his eyes. He had to admit, waking up next to Eliot did make it hard for Quentin to think about waking with anyone else.

Julia was right, as usual.

Quentin got out of bed, surprised to find himself so clean. Must’ve been Eliot.

Grabbing some clothes, Quentin washed and shaved, even though he didn’t really feel like taking care of himself, and got dressed. He’d bypassed his collection of holly jolly Christmas sweaters to grab a black t-shirt and a plain black hoodie.

He headed back out, brushing past Eliot to get downstairs. Once there, seeing all the Christmas decorations he’d put up with Eliot, and Julia, Kady, and Henry all chatting happily, Quentin felt instantly stressed and went straight for the wine chiller.

With a quick spell, he had the bottle open and had just turned to join everyone when the bottle slipped from his grip and shattered on the floor.

When he looked up, Julia looked highly annoyed. Kady and Henry appeared to be trying to stop her from casting.

“Great, now all those grapes died for nothing,” Q said flatly.

“Q, it’s nine in the morning.” Julia cast a spell to banish the mess as Quentin huffed and went to the fridge, where he pulled out a bottle of orange juice.

“That’s more like it.”

Quentin turned and got out a champagne flute and then went back to the wine cabinet for a bottle of champagne. “Brunch. Deal with it.”

Kady laughed softly and lay a hand on Julia’s shoulder to soothe her. “Brunch. Right.”

Quentin had already made mimosas by the time Eliot came down. He was dressed conservatively for him, wearing just a patterned navy dress shirt unbuttoned halfway down the chest and an oatmeal-colored cardigan with red corduroy drainpipes. As he descended the stairs, he brightened.

“You didn’t say there’d be champagne,” he crooned, striding up to Quentin and claiming his own flute. “Thank you, Q. You are truly a remarkable creature, and I’m sure we’re all indebted to you.”

Henry snorted, but he held out his hand for a flute as well. “Yes, Quentin, lest we all forget it is not only Christmastime, but the lead up to the blessed occasion of Julia and Kady’s nuptials, it _is_ a time to celebrate each day.”

“Oh wait. A friend showed me this trick.” Quentin flashed a quick look at Eliot, then headed to the wet bar and pulled out the Grand Marnier. He topped off everyone’s flute with a splash. “Didn’t know so many of you would be joining me.”

“They’re trying to keep you from drinking all of it.” Julia huffed as she plated French toast for Quentin and started a new batch for Eliot.

Quentin frowned as he put away the Grand Marnier. Then he returned to pick up his plate and flute and moved to the other side of the kitchen island to the stools. He took a seat next to Henry, leaving space on the other side of him for Eliot.

“Thanks, everyone, for caring.” He held up his flute. “To everyone, for keeping Quentin from tripping over his own dick.”

Eliot blinked at Quentin as if he had not expected such a toast, but he raised his flute and clinked it against Quentin’s. Henry clinked his as well, looking amused, and extended his arm to give Quentin a hug around the shoulders.

Kady lofted her flute as well, standing beside Julia as she flipped French toast. Eyes sparkling, she teased, “And to Quentin, for being so clumsy around his own genitals that he requires familial intervention.”

Quentin huffed and tried not to laugh because he was cranky, but it _was_ pretty funny. He took a drink of his mimosa and then set it down to eat his French toast. “Looks like I won’t need fork and spoon operational tips.”

Julia plated up French toast for Eliot and served it to him. She glared at Quentin. “Fine, Q. I get it.”

“I’m a big boy, Jules.”

“You’re a big baby, Q.” Julia wiped off her hands and then stormed out of the kitchen.

Quentin guzzled his mimosa, feeling guilty about upsetting Julia on top of everything else.

Kady gave them all a look, downed her mimosa, and then took off after Julia.

Beside Quentin, Henry sighed and squeezed his shoulders once more before releasing him. “The wedding preparations are making Julia very tense.”

Eliot said nothing as he ate his French toast, devoting himself to it with single-minded determination.

“I wish she’d stay focused on them.” Quentin finished his French toast and then got up to open another bottle of champagne to replenish mimosas. He’d finally gotten to a good mental place where he felt like he could wait and see with the presents, and now Julia had Quentin questioning everything.

He really wished he could just shut his brain off, which was what the alcohol was for, but she apparently couldn’t even leave him alone about that. What the hell was he supposed to do?

He brought the Grand Marnier back out and this time started with that, then the champagne, and then the orange juice. Once completed, Quentin pushed the flutes out to Henry and Eliot and then drank straight from the Grand Marnier bottle as he sighed and rested against the kitchen counter.

Before anyone could comment, the doorbell rang, and Quentin trudged off to answer.

The usual pair stood on the other side of the door, and as she sang, _“On the seventh day of Christmas—”_ Quentin was already opening the gate of the little wood-and-gilt birdcage. It expanded as expected as she sang, _“—seven swans a-swimming, six geese a-laying, five golden rings! Four colly birds, three Fren—”_ And then Quentin was stepping through, not having the patience to listen to the entire song.

A wide, blue sky opened above with only a few puffy, white clouds visible. A ring of emerald-green trees encircled what appeared to be an enormous lake fed by a river across its expanse. The water was clear and deep and sea green, with aquatic plants and fish and turtles visible even from where Quentin stood. At the golden sand shore stood a small pier adored with ribbons and strings of colorful lights. Moored there was what at first glance appeared to be a small white boat with a swan’s head prow.

On second glance, it became obvious it was, in fact, a _swan_ that was _also a boat_. It craned its long neck and turned its beautiful head to look at him, then fluttered its wings as if inviting Quentin to come for a ride.

“Shouldn’t there be six more of you?” Quentin walked to the end of the pier still carrying his bottle of orange liqueur, which wasn’t really that tasty by itself, but it was doing the trick.

He couldn’t bring himself to be mad at a bird. Or a boat. Especially not a bird boat on a beautiful day.

Also, it made him think of “Black Swan” by Thom Yorke as he stepped from the pier onto the swan’s back. Kind of dark for the scenario, but it suited his mood. Quentin settled in with his legs around the swan’s neck, leaning forward to wrap his arms around it as it started off into the water.

He sung low and tunelessly, “ _I’m your black swan, black swan… this is fucked up, fucked up_.” Then he corrected, “Not you, swan. Me. I’m fucked up. This is fucked up. You’re very nice. And your turtle friends. How fast can you go?” Quentin tightened his grip on the swan.

The swan boat made a swan noise and moved faster. Quentin could feel its legs churning beneath the water, rocking him gently side to side as it gained speed. It slipped effortlessly over the lake’s modest waves, and beneath him, schools of colorful fish darted and banked. Dead ahead, another swan boat stood at another pier, which made two.

“Hey, there’s a friend. Come on, swan boat! We’re racing! Or… we could be spinning? Let’s do a spin.” As they turned, Quentin saw Eliot on a swan boat coming after him.

Quentin wasn’t where he was supposed to be; the swan boats weren’t designed for Quentin to perch on its neck like this, but he liked having something to cling to. “How would you guys feel about rushing that boat?”

The swan boats made swan noises and bore down toward Eliot’s swan boat, racing each other to see who would reach Eliot first. For his part, Eliot stood from his seat on his swan’s back and waved at Quentin as if to greet him and then began waving both arms in what looked like panic at being rushed.

Quentin laughed and then yelled, “Turn, turn, turn! Wings out!”

It created a rather impressive wave of water directed at Eliot. Technically, it would’ve been easier to splash Eliot with a spell, but this seemed more sporting. Plus, the swans seemed to enjoy it, honking happily and loudly enough that all the swan siblings came swimming out to see what the fuss was.

Eliot’s hands moved in a swift tut, and Quentin braced for retaliation, but instead Eliot simply emerged from the wave pristine and dry as water beaded off his swan boat’s feathers. His swan let out an indignant honk and fluffed its wings menacingly, but it did nothing to take revenge. Instead, it swam up alongside Quentin’s boat, and Eliot saluted him.

“Permission to come aboard, Captain Quentin?”

“Permission granted, but I must warn you, I’m giving heavy consideration to busting out a snorkeling charm so I can see those fish close up.” Quentin got up from his spot on his swan and kissed its head before moving back to the boatier part to offer Eliot a hand. “Also giving heavy consideration to staying in here for the rest of the trip.”

Eliot made a non-committal noise as he gracefully stepped along his swan’s wing and over onto Quentin’s swan. He stumbled a little as Quentin’s swan redistributed its weight, clinging to Quentin and laughing, and then sighed as if having escaped near-death as he sat back on the seat and looked up at Quentin. “So it’s that bad, is it?”

“How bad can it be? _I’m on a boat, motherfucker, don’t you ever forget! Fuck land! I’m on a boat, motherfucker_!” Quentin laughed, set the Grand Marnier down on one of the seats, and took a spot next to Eliot. “Just tired of being seen as the lonely, sad boy fuck-up in the family. As if I’m the only one who drinks. And after what she laid on me yesterday…”

Eliot gave Quentin a gentle shove and murmured, “That’s what I like best about you.” Then he reached for the Grand Marnier himself and gave Quentin a searching look. “What _did_ she lay on you yesterday?”

“She just made me aware of how everyone sees me. That sort of… confirmed what I already think of myself, so.” Quentin turned away from Eliot, because he didn’t particularly want to say more than that. His swan boat seemed to sense his need and turned its head to give him a nuzzle. “She’s convinced I’m going to fuck everything up. That I’ll just… fall into patterns she doesn’t approve of.”

Eliot made a low, pained sound and slammed down the bottle on the seat. “I don’t know what she told you about how everyone sees you, but you don’t need her approval. You’re a grown ass man.”

He stood then and took off his cardigan. “Let’s go snorkeling.”

“Yes!” That cheered Quentin up. He knew it probably wasn’t the intent to have snorkeling where the swans were a-swimming, but Quentin wanted to kill time, and he loved looking at fish. He pulled off his clothes, then jumped in the water before casting charms on them both so they could explore the clear blue lake and all its rainbowy inhabitants.

~*~

It was afternoon by the time Quentin was tired of looking at fish and swimming around in his boxers, and Eliot had thoroughly enjoyed every moment despite the fact he was not, generally speaking, the most athletic fellow. Snorkeling was languorously paced, and Quentin was shirtless, and the water was refreshing. They swam until they were too hungry to swim anymore, left the pocket dimension to decimate the pantry, and then retreated into the living room to nap on the big fluffy rug in front of the fireplace.

The doorbell woke them just after dark. Quentin startled up, head whipping back and forth as he tried to figure out what had jolted him from his doze. Eliot had already been stirring, so he responded by pointing in the direction of the front door.

The sound of carolers drifted to them even where they were, and Eliot glanced toward the stairs as Kady and Julia came down, their faces bright with anticipation. Henry wasn’t far behind, and though he looked rather more stern, he likewise seemed delighted about carolers.

So Eliot stood, neatened his rumpled attire, and combed his fingers through his curls in an attempt to restore them to some kind of order.

“Shall we?” he asked Q, motioning for Quentin to precede him.

By the time they’d reached the foyer, the front door was already open, letting in a blast of cold air and revealing snow falling outside just beyond where Poppy Kline stood singing with two large, humanoid fellows with ram’s horns. Eliot blinked a few times, startled, and looked around to see no one else at all surprised.

So, when in Fillory, do as.

He started to sing along.

Quentin joined in, loud and tuneless but nevertheless amused, “ _When we found her Christmas morning at the scene of the attack, she had hoof-prints on her forehead and incriminating Claus marks on her back._ ”

Apparently, _Grandma Got Runover by a Reindeer_ was a Fillory Christmas tradition? Then again, on the front lawn of the Fogg household, that was a real possibility.

Quentin put his arm around Eliot and turned to whisper, “That’s Mayors Ember and Umber.”

When the song concluded, praise was heaped upon them. Poppy was radiant and jubilant in her policewoman uniform that conformed beautifully to her curves.

“Hey, Quinny.” She grinned at Quentin, who appeared pained to be called that.

Had anyone _ever_ called Quentin such a thing?

“Yeah, Merry Christmas,” Quentin replied, looking cranky.

Julia looked between them, slipped her arm around Quentin, and gave him a hard shove out the door toward her.

Poppy caught Quentin before he fell on his face. He looked back at Julia like he might well shove her back, but Poppy’s hands were immediately all over him, and his look of alarm was worrisome.

“I wanted to see if you wanted to come out with me tonight. The Mayors are here, so it’s practically mandatory.”

Quentin reached back before she could paw his ass, knocking her hands away. “Mandatory fun. Sounds great.”

“Excellent. So you’re coming.” Poppy held her hands up and laughed. “I’ll be good, Quinny. I promise.”

Quentin flashed Eliot a helpless look before turning back to her. “So… what, like a date?”

“Of course.”

“Oh, I already had dinner.” Quentin nodded and looked around for everyone to agree with him.

Poppy grabbed his hands. “Perfect. Means I don’t have to feed you. Come on!”

She tugged him as Quentin looked over his shoulder at Eliot again. “I can’t leave Eliot. He’s my guest.”

“Well then come on, Eliot. You can be Ember’s date.” Poppy’s grin turned manic.

The being who appeared to be Ember laughed, throwing his head back. “Oh, I don’t think it’s proper for me to date mortals. You three go. Umber and I have more _caroling_ to do.”

The way he said _caroling_ sounded sinister, and Eliot didn’t even want to speculate. They vanished before anything further could be asked.

Eliot considered begging off, but Quentin grabbed his arm. “We’re a package deal.”

“Kinky. I like it.” Poppy eyed Eliot as if he was a tasty snack and smirked. “Let’s go.”

Eliot gave Quentin a weary look, but he wasn’t about to send poor Q off like a lamb to slaughter. So, sighing, he said, “We should get our boots and coats. It’s snowing. If you’ll give us just a moment.”

Poppy didn’t seem interested in giving them a moment, but Eliot hauled Quentin back inside and over to the hall closet before she could come up with a valid protest.

As Eliot stuffed his feet into his boots, he asked, “You know you can say no, right? You don’t owe her anything.”

“I don’t even want to know what a god of chaos might do if I said no.” Quentin shoved his feet into his boots and grabbed his jacket with annoyed aggression. “Poppy doesn’t really set up situations where _no_ is a viable option.”

Quentin paused, shaking out his hands as he did sometimes after a particularly potent spell or when he was nervous about something. “But you know, maybe it’ll be cute. You know, high school sweethearts or something. Julia seems to think it’s Poppy, and she did show up singing a Christmas carol, so…”

Eliot flattened his lips to avoid saying anything he shouldn’t, shrugged, and pulled on his long coat and scarf. “Will it make Julia happy if we go?”

He suspected it would _not_ make Julia happy if Eliot went too, but Eliot wasn’t going to leave Q to Poppy’s tender mercies.

Besides, Kady would work on Julia.

“I’m worried that… I don’t think it’ll make Julia happy or unhappy, but there are nuptials that could be made awkward. I mean. I don’t know. I don’t think she’d… but… I shouldn’t drag you into this, El. I’m sorry. I panicked.” Quentin covered his mouth. He looked really upset briefly, and then his expression went dull like it did when he resigned himself to something he didn’t particularly want to do. “She is really fun, actually. I’m being dramatic.”

“Don’t be sorry. If she’s really fun, I’m sure I’ll have a great time. Let’s go.” Eliot held out his elbow to escort Quentin back to the front door, giving him a winning smile. Then, leaning in, he whispered, “It’s okay to be dramatic. There are far worse things. Like being dull.”

Quentin leaned against Eliot, and any misgivings he might’ve had were resolved by the neediness with which Quentin clutched at him. “You’re. The. Best. Don’t ever let anyone tell you you’re not.”

The way he exhaled sounded like a thousand pounds had shed from him, and he lifted his head with an aura of newfound confidence as he strode with Eliot out to face Poppy, who had changed into a rather glorious dress of gold and red sequins. She radiated magic, and after she took Quentin’s hand, they were all transported to a slightly overwrought dance hall where people were, well, swing dancing.

Poppy pushed Eliot away from Quentin and dragged Q into the middle of the dance floor. He was suddenly in a whimsical, out of place Zoot suit of red and gold to match Poppy, moving with a vigor that Eliot had never witnessed. He kicked and swung, moving Poppy as if she was a ragdoll, even tossing her into the air on a spin.

What the actual shit?

Eliot frowned, looked down at his own fairly dowdy outfit—he’d been going for comfort today more than style, not expecting to go anywhere but swan lake—and sighed as he performed some basic fashion charms to zhush things up. His oatmeal-colored cardigan became a high-collared military-cut jacket, and his drainpipe corduroys became sleek leather trousers, which tucked nicely into the tall winter boots he’d transformed temporarily into something chicer. Once he felt less homely, he headed closer to Quentin and Poppy, staking out a spot in the corner where he could keep an eye on their doings and perhaps sip a cocktail in the meantime.

Poppy really was beautiful, Eliot thought, and for some reason Julia really liked her. Eliot thought she might even prefer Poppy to himself, and while that nettled him, he supposed she just had more history with Poppy. Whatever her faults, she was cutting quite the rug with Q.

After acquiring an adequate but not spectacular cocktail, Eliot observed Quentin’s situation from a very different frame of mind. Yes, Quentin rolled Poppy over his back or moved his hand in such a way to flip her athletically, but as Eliot watched, he started to see the maneuvers less as dancing and more as Q trying to ditch Poppy. For every move he made, her hand was back on him, seeming to keep him in this sustained dancing space. His kicking appeared to grow more desperate until Poppy finally led Quentin from the dance floor fanning himself.

“Oh hey, Eliot. I forgot you were here.” Poppy took his cocktail and drained it, beaming. “I know you love dancing, Quinny.”

Quentin wiped his brow and nodded. “Yeah. I do like to dance, Poppy. Thanks for remembering.”

She handed Eliot the emptied cocktail like he was the help and pulled Quentin in for a kiss.

He turned his head, giving her the cheek. “I made a promise to a friend. You want me to get us more drinks?”

“Nah, I’m not thirsty. Isn’t this great?” Poppy peered around at everyone dancing.

“I’m thirsty, Poppy.” Quentin said.

She turned to Eliot. “Get us more drinks… Eliot?”

Eliot resisted the urge to light into her by focusing his attention on Quentin instead. If Poppy wanted to play games…

“You’re thirsty, Q? What do you want to drink, gorgeous? You know I’ll get you anything you want.”

Quentin looked surprised to be asked, which made Eliot’s heart hurt a little. “Oh, um. Gin and tonic? Something with a lot of water in it. You know what I like. Or maybe I should go with you?”

Poppy looked annoyed first at Quentin and then at Eliot. “I guess we could all go to the bar. Sit down or something. Do you want to sit down, Quinny?”

“Yeah.” Quentin looked exhausted. After snorkeling and then that vigorous dancing, Eliot couldn’t blame him. “Maybe we can talk some. I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“That’s true.” Poppy pulled Quentin toward the bar. He grabbed Eliot to keep him with them as they crowded to the front of the busy bar. She managed to get served quickly, and as she moved toward tables, people started to clear out.

Quentin seemed grateful for the break. If he noticed how weird it was that Poppy seemed to wield so much power, he wasn’t showing it. Probably too tired.

She set the drinks down and waited for Quentin to seat her, and then he dropped into the chair next to her. “So you have your little book thing with your friend?”

Grabbing his drink, Quentin drank it quickly and grabbed another that had probably been intended for Eliot. Quentin flashed him an apologetic look and drained it. “Yeah. It’s popular. Won some awards.”

“That’s great. Great. I knew you’d do well, Quinny. You’re just… special, you know? I always thought so.” Poppy pushed her drink toward Quentin, her eyes sparkling. “Such a great artist.”

“That’s Eliot’s work, actually.” Quentin pushed her drink toward Eliot. “He’s just amazing with the art. My words are sort of… They’re all right.”

“My art wouldn’t have nearly as much impact without your words, Q,” Eliot reminded him as he took Poppy’s drink. Turnabout was fair play. He drained it before she could protest and then smiled beatifically. “You’re the heart of that series. I’m just following your lead, your ideas. Your passion drives it, and your ideas inspire me.”

It would’ve been much harder for Eliot to come out and say all that, let alone articulate it properly, if he hadn’t been feeling so competitive with Poppy. But somehow with her clever, oddly hard eyes on him, he wanted to push himself.

Quentin looked touched, and he tilted his head, giving his slightly unhinged looking smile. “I do try really hard to make the characters relatable and their voices specific. It helps that they each have their own aesthetics. And cocktails.”

“Yeah, yeah, you love each other.” Poppy rolled her eyes and waved at the bar. A nervous looking woman in horn-rimmed glasses delivered more gin and tonics. “That’s great. Really great. You two have been at it a while now. It’s sweet. Quentin’s so loyal. Like a big, sweet puppy.”

“Thank you?” Quentin didn’t jump at the next round of drinks, which was just as well. “You’ve had this job as um… police? For a while?”

“Yeah. I really enjoy it, actually. I didn’t think I would. You know I love dragons, and that’s how I pictured me living my life up until the… unfortunate misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstanding, yeah.” Quentin smiled, but Eliot could feel his want to roll his eyes.

Poppy shrugged. “It was probably good for me in the end. Snapped me out of this fantasy I was having, brought me back to Fillory and to you. And it’s just been… you know, mostly I just shepherd out lost normals, but I also get called when people need help, and that’s really been… You know you really get to know people when they’re at their lowest. When they’re scared. It’s nice to be able to do something. Didn’t think I’d be the type to run toward the fire, but… it makes me feel useful.”

Quentin nodded, seeming to melt a little, because how could he not? He’d probably love being a firefighter or something dangerous and crazy if he wasn’t convinced that he mostly just made situations worse.

Eliot reached for his gin and tonic, sipping it as he gazed at them both over its top. It wasn’t like Eliot could compete with the whole hero schtick. He was a strictly non-combatant libertine type, and more power to Poppy if she wanted to save Fillory’s inhabitants from themselves and whatever shenanigans passed for crime around here.

“That sounds lovely,” Eliot finally answered, feeling like he should say _something_ to acknowledge Poppy’s continued existence. “Like you’ve made a real place for yourself.”

“I think so. I guess I didn’t have a lot of time for people in the past, but that’s changed.” Poppy reached out for Quentin’s hand, and he let her put it on top of his. “I don’t know if Julia told you but last year, she nearly Niffin’ed out.”

“What?” Quentin sat up, suddenly at attention. “No, she didn’t tell me that.”

“If she hadn’t been in Fillory, if I hadn’t been driving by and saw the lights… Umber gets most of the credit for absorbing that energy, but it was really… it was scary for everyone. Except Umber, who didn’t really care, but he cared because I was there, and it’s nice to be able to do things like that for people.”

“Yeah. It must be.” Quentin sat forward, and Eliot could read him loud and clear that he was grateful to Poppy. There was no way to compete with that either.

“Being back at the house… I’m not proud of that time in my life, Quinny. I know I probably seemed kind of cold and disinterested sometimes. I was working through stuff. Everything I’d been working toward blew up in my face. You were there, and you listened, and I never forgot. I just figured we’d moved on, but then Julia’s wedding…and she said you’d be here, and I knew I had to… try. You know what I mean?”

“Try?” Quentin turned his hand over, letting Poppy take it, and Eliot’s stomach churned. “You mean like…” he leaned in, “the presents?”

Her brows furrowed momentarily, and then she nodded. “Yes. I love giving presents.”

“To me?” Quentin’s eyes widened. It was hard to tell what he thought of that beyond shock. “It’s you?”

“It’s me.” Poppy nodded, seeming invigorated by Quentin’s attention.

Eliot gaped. _What the fuuuuuuuuck._ Poppy just lied to Quentin’s face. Just… Just like that!

What was Eliot supposed to say to that? He hadn’t thought she’d actually claim credit.

He wanted to protest, but it would ruin the surprise, and Quentin had promised not to do anything rash, right? And the love letter would arrive in a few days and explain everything, and…

Downing the rest of the gin and tonic, Eliot stared at Poppy, trying to analyze her, scrutinize her, see what made her tick.

Then again, she’d stolen from dragons, which was arguably nervier in that Eliot couldn’t kill her in a breath of fire, but she didn’t know _who_ was behind the presents. She might not even know _what_ the presents were.

Quentin was also gaping, but Eliot liked to think he saw a flicker of disappointment behind his eyes. “Wow. I mean. I’m really… overwhelmed, Poppy.”

“You deserve all the good things you get, Quinny. I’m glad I could be even a small part of that.” Poppy piled her other hand atop Quentin’s, beaming at his response.

“After all this time? You’re… in love with me?” Quentin seemed to be having a hard time wrapping his head around it. Any reasonable person would.

“Yeah. I always have been. You’re special. I can’t be the only one who’s told you that.” She tilted her head and glanced at Eliot, seeming somewhat smug. “You have fans all over the world, don’t you?”

“Fans. I mean. But not really people who know me.” Quentin looked down at their hands and then turned to Eliot as if he wanted his opinion.

Seething internally, Eliot managed a charming smile. “Of course you’re special, Q. Haven’t I told you a hundred times?” Eliot nudged Quentin’s shoulder. “You _do_ deserve all the good things you get.”

He felt paralyzed. Poppy’s unflinching wickedness had cut him off at the knees. How could he even counter that kind of self-satisfied deceit?

Sliding an arm over the back of Quentin’s seat, Eliot leaned in and didn’t let go, staking his claim as best he could. “But as Q said, we’re a package deal.”

“Even better.” The way that Poppy eyed Eliot made him unsure if she was having a fantasy about fucking him or killing him. One thing Quentin had right was that she was kinda evil.

“I… I guess it makes sense. Julia tried to tell me. And Kady…Fillory. Right.” Quentin’s brows were furrowed, and Eliot knew from experience that Quentin could convince himself of nearly anything, no matter how half-baked. “So I guess it’s you. My one true love.”

“That’s me!” Poppy sat up, tossed back her red hair, and put on her winningest smile. “Your first love and your true love!”

She had Quentin’s hands in hers and leaned in, but Quentin remained in his spot, staring, mouth partially open. This was going to go so poorly.

“Quentin,” Eliot whispered, squeezing him around the shoulders and trying to startle him into some kind of action.

“Huh?” Quentin looked at Eliot, puzzlement writ large on his face as Poppy went in for another kiss and again got the cheek. “Oh!”

He reflexively jumped back and almost knocked over his chair, but Eliot had his shoulders.

Poppy narrowed her eyes as she released Quentin’s hands. “Are you all right?”

“I’m… I’m tired. I told you, I’m kind of overwhelmed, Poppy. I’m sorry, I think that I should—”

“Want to go bowling?” She beamed at them.

“What?” Quentin looked thoroughly confused. “No, I was thinking I should go—”

“To the Night Carnival?” She raised her brows and tried to look appealing.

“Let’s do that tomorrow.” This time Quentin declared it quickly so he wouldn’t get caught in Poppy’s interruptive inquisitiveness.

“But it’s still so _early_.” Poppy pouted.

“We’ve had a long day,” Eliot explained with feigned regret. “We went snorkeling for hours, and Quentin wore himself out looking at all the fish. We were actually napping when you arrived.” He squeezed Quentin again and added, “At least you got to dance with him, right? That was…nice.”

“Yeah. That was just a little enchantment to help out with the Lindy Hop. I know Quentin loves to dance. He used to do that Beyoncé dance all the time and all those video things.” Poppy grinned.

“You remember that?” Quentin chuckled, seeming somewhat charmed.

“Of course I do, Quinny. Who could forget you in Julia’s jeans bopping around the house?”

“Those were _my_ jeans.” Quentin folded his arms and looked petulant, and it was just so adorable, but it was also obvious that he wasn’t just making excuses about being tired.

“Let’s get you home, Q. You’re getting cranky.” Eliot kissed Quentin’s temple and stood, ignoring Poppy’s noise of protest as he helped Quentin up. Then Eliot polished off a gin and tonic remaining on the table, uncertain whose it was and _not fucking caring_. Honestly. “Thanks for the fun evening, Poppy. We’ll see you tomorrow for the…Night Carnival?”

At least, that’s what Quentin had said. Eliot was just going with the flow.

“Oh, I have something tomorrow night, actually. Night Carnival is all week, so we can go the next night. It’ll be better. You can rest up so you’re ready for me.” Poppy stood and pulled Quentin into a hug that he didn’t seem entirely in favor of, given the strange look on his face, but he tolerated it.

“Okay, great. See you, Poppy.” Quentin ducked her attempted kiss, leaving her with her head up for a smooch and only Eliot even really facing her.

She smirked up at Eliot. “Package deal, you said?”

“Where he goes, I go.” Donning a game smile, Eliot leaned over and aimed a peck for her cheek, one arm protectively encircling Quentin to prevent Poppy going after him again. Eliot could take one for the team, right? This was just a temporary setback.

She accepted the cheek kiss and then picked up the last gin and tonic. “Get some rest. I’m not done dancing.” She headed back to the dancefloor as Quentin looked up at Eliot.

“How do we get home?”

“Um, let’s head outside and see where we are, yeah?” Eliot pulled Quentin close under his arm and steered him for the door. They made their way around the dancefloor, and Eliot didn’t fail to note Poppy was already prowling for a new partner.

Outside was bitterly cold, and Quentin’s clothes had been turned into a suit which left him pretty defenseless against the elements, at least until he cast a warming charm on himself. He looked up at the building they were leaving. It was a converted barn, and Quentin turned to his left and pointed at familiar-looking multicolored lights strung over a large log cabin. “Oh, we’re not far.”

He looked so tired, though. It was hard to imagine he’d love walking the mile or two home.

Before Eliot could point that out, Quentin was casting again. He chanted, “Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! On, Cupid! On Donner and Blitzen! To the front of the barn from the old Fogg lawn! Come pick up your friends so we’re not walking until dawn!”

The magic went out, and after a moment’s silence, Eliot could hear the stampede and see the glow of eight reindeer coming right for them. After Eliot’s trample-trauma, he cringed back and hid behind Q, not relishing the idea of being run over yet again like someone’s Fillorian grandma.

“How, exactly, are they getting us home, Q? Did they—Are you—Is there a sleigh?” Eliot brightened. He was just buzzed enough to think that was a brilliant idea. “Oh my god, Q, are we going to be pulled in a sleigh?”

“Yeah, it doesn’t fly, though. I could get them to kinda float, but…well it was a whole thing, and Dad said I was absolutely not to allow the semi-sentient Christmas decoration reindeer to fly, so we’ll have to settle for literally dashing through the snow.”

The reindeer pulled up with a huge, lighted sleigh that Quentin climbed into before offering his hand to Eliot to help him in. “Believe it or not, this isn’t the first time I’ve been left stranded at a Christmas party.”

“Oh, Q.” Eliot’s heart swelled as he accepted Quentin’s hand and climbed into the sleigh. It was…well, so much of their lives were magical, but this was next level. This was how Eliot had imagined magic would be before he knew he was a magician.

Sighing, he settled in beside Quentin, winding his arm around Quentin’s shoulders and drawing him close so Quentin’s head nestled on his chest. “This is amazing. I never—This is…”

Looking at Quentin’s precious face in the light of the reindeer and their sleigh, illuminated too by the moon overhead, the stars that shone so bright here in Fillory, Eliot just stared, throat working soundlessly. He longed to kiss Quentin, to tell him Poppy had nothing to do with any of this, but…

Closing his eyes, Eliot leaned over to kiss Quentin’s forehead.

“We don’t have to go straight home. We can ride around in this for a bit if you want to.” Quentin looked up at Eliot as he pulled back, seeming as if he’d finally found his smile. “I didn’t figure you for the gaudy sleigh-riding type. They’ve got a five-mile governor on them, but it’s easy enough to break if you just want to enjoy the ride a while.”

“Yeah, let’s just…cruise. My love, and also my coat, will keep you warm.” Eliot grinned, giddy at making Quentin smile again, and bit his lip in excitement at taking a sleigh ride with Quentin.

Removing his long coat, Eliot worked a spell to transform it into a big furry blanket and spread it over their laps before settling back in against Q’s side and snuggling up. “How’s this? Show me the sights, big shot.”

“Fillory’s usually pretty quiet by night, and the houses are spread out, but we can see everyone’s lights. Downtown is usually blocked off for the Night Carnival. I think I told you about that, with the rides and the sword swallowers and fire eaters? I’m kind of tired for that tonight, and I’m comfortable right here.” Quentin smiled and looked up at Eliot so softly that the urge to kiss him nearly overwhelmed Eliot, but Quentin looked away as the sleigh started to move.

Under the blankets, Quentin’s hands stirred, twitching quickly, and for a hot minute, Eliot thought maybe Quentin was doing something Eliot would like to watch. But as the sleigh gained speed and purposeful direction, Eliot realized that Quentin was just piloting the sleigh.

Oh well. There’d be time for watching Quentin wank later. Obviously. When Eliot reclaimed his crown as One True Love from Poppy the Pretender.

How very dare she? Honestly.

Harrumphing quietly, Eliot stretched out and got comfy, turning his head to look around at the pristine nighttime landscape. Fillory really was beautiful by night, with moonlight on snowdrifts and distant hills, beautiful forests nestled back from the road, and luxurious houses adorned with fanciful holiday light displays.

“Did you ever do this as a kid?” Eliot asked, yearning to know all the parts of Quentin that he’d never explored. “Did Henry and Julia go out with you at night to see the neighborhood lights?”

“Julia did when we were younger, before she started seeing these things as being frivolous. Henry came out once, but I decided to try and show off with the flying, and well he doesn’t trust these guys on a good day.”

Quentin spaced out for a moment, looking up at the stars. It reminded Eliot of that sad, lonely boy who’d showed up at Brakebills. A legacy, but without the entitlement and more than a little lost, having been separated from his twin.

Eliot couldn’t exactly articulate why, even to himself, he was so drawn to Quentin’s sadness, to his melancholy and drive to keep fighting on, but he suspected somewhere deep down he related. While Quentin wore his heart on his sleeve, all his feelings so close to the surface, Eliot kept his suppressed, carefully curated to preserve the image he wanted to present. Quentin didn’t seem to _care_ about image, and it was so raw and real and arresting.

“Then I’m glad I get to share this with you,” Eliot said finally, nestling closer to Q. “I never…” He trailed off, uncertain how to open up, even after all this time. Which was why all the secrecy and gifts were necessary to begin with.

“When I was a boy, I always wanted to go out and drive around at night looking at lights, but my dad… He didn’t think that was manly or—” Eliot cut himself off, frowning before he leaned in and kissed Quentin’s hair. “This trip is like the highlight reel of all my childhood fantasies.”

“I had no idea you liked seeing Christmas lights.” Quentin squeezed Eliot closer. “There are a lot of neighborhoods who really do it up right. Well, actually kind of beyond right; they go crazy. There’s music and holograms… They have those shows on TV sometimes about them. Apparently, you can take portals to the neighborhoods for tours. I always thought about doing it, but I figured you’d think it was dorky. Not as cool as a magical sleigh ride, of course.”

Eliot hummed and nodded as the sleigh glided along past decorated houses. “This is definitely the way to do it. It’s not so much the elaborateness of the displays I care about. It’s the… I don’t know. There’s something about this.” He leaned into Quentin’s embrace. “Company’s good too.”

“If we had hot cocoa, it would be perfect, right? With extra marshmallows? And peppermint schnapps. I bet we could stop by the house and gather supplies. Come back out in our pajamas with a big actual blanket and ride around under the stars?” Quentin bit his lip and looked up at Eliot, expression open and hopeful.

“Of course,” Eliot agreed. How could he say no to that face? He smiled at Quentin and tugged a strand of his hair playfully. “Maybe you can set the reindeers’ course before we depart, so you can use your hands for drinking cocoa and not for invisible reins.”

As they turned back toward the cabin, Eliot allowed himself to picture it this time next year, with Quentin and Eliot somehow magically planning their own wedding, and everything moving forward with a minimum of freaking out because it was so much easier in a fantasy than in reality, where Eliot wasn’t even ready to just tell Quentin his real feelings.

When they arrived at the house, all the lights were on. There was no way to sneak up on it on a brightly lit reindeer sleigh, and the thing didn’t move particularly fast. By the time it pulled up, Julia was standing outside of the house in a coat, her expression unreadable.

“Where’s Poppy?”

“Dancing, I guess?” Quentin got up and hopped out of the sleigh before offering his hand to help Eliot out.

Julia sighed and shook her head. “You’re so fucking predictable, Q.”

“Jules, I’m sorry. Look, Poppy told me she saved you, so I get why—”

“It’s not about her, Q. It’s about you. About you growing up and moving on with your life.”

Eliot couldn’t stand by and let Julia go after Quentin like that, even though he knew where she was coming from and the love she had for him. She didn’t understand.

“So you almost Niffined out and now Q owes it to Poppy to date her?” That came out more combative than Eliot really intended, but he was in it now. “Poppy has some serious issues. Maybe she did something great for you, but if you think giving Q some Christmas presents would make up for what a psycho she is, then I don’t even know how to talk to you.”

“She’s not a psycho, Eliot. She’s a real live person with feelings, and very likely feelings for Quentin. I understand why you’re so intimidated by that. I know you enjoy your little codependent puppy.”

Quentin stood by the door, coatless and shivering, but he’d stopped on the porch when Julia and Eliot started fighting. “I’m not codependent.”

“You couldn’t even go on a date without him.” Julia rounded on Quentin, pointing back at Eliot. “And this is what I’m saying to you, Q. You get strung along with just enough hope to keep you going, and when someone shows real interest, suddenly there’s Eliot!”

“That’s not fair, Jules. Don’t blame Eliot.”

“I don’t, Q. I don’t because you keep _letting_ him do it. You even dragged him along this time. Would it be so hard to go out with someone who was so thoughtful and caring of you that they put together almost two weeks of gifts?” Julia crossed her arms, and Quentin looked cornered and ashamed.

“Didn’t you think these gifts were _creepy_ just a couple days ago?” Eliot blinked at Julia, ready to charge in and defend his Quentin. “Now you want Quentin to date Poppy of all people just because she says she’s his one true love and sent him some extravagant presents? Of _course_ he can go on a date without me. I barely saw him outside of work when he was dating Penny, and when I did see him, all he wanted to do was talk about how good the sex was! I don’t—”

That was too much, and Eliot scaled it back, grimacing. “I need a drink.”

He nabbed Quentin’s elbow and guided him inside. “Get in out of the cold, Q. You’re trembling.”

“I talked about other things,” Quentin protested as Eliot shuffled him into the house. “It’s just that was all we really did.”

Julia followed them inside. “The presents _are_ kind of creepy. If it were me, I would’ve sent them all back. I don’t need all of that with Kady. I don’t have to ask myself if I love Kady because of presents or because of her, because we keep it simple and we just… are together. I want that for Q. I want him to have a healthy, supportive relationship, and yeah, I think Poppy’s changed. I think she’s worth a second look, and in the absence of any other options….”

“Why don’t you two decide who I’m dating and then just let me know where to show up,” Quentin snapped. “Sorry my dating life is so unsatisfying for everyone. I’m doing my fucking best!”

Eliot stopped dead, one hand on the wet bar, and looked at Quentin. He let out a long, heavy breath, took out glassware for some Old Fashioned drinks, and set to work fitfully pouring a cocktail for each of them. “Was I happy about you dating Penny? No.”

Eliot measured sugar into the bottom of each glass and then shook in several dashes of orange bitters, muddling the drinks aggressively. “Will I be happy about you dating Poppy? No.”

As he added a half-splash of water to each glass, he got so agitated he swirled the muddler with his fingertip and telekinesis instead of trusting to his grip. “Do I like you dating people? No. Julia’s got that much right.”

Then he dropped a huge rock of ice in each, sloshed Maker’s Mark over, and topped the glasses with orange garnishes. He looked to Quentin as he held out the drink for him. “She’s not wrong, Q. I don’t want anyone taking you away from me. I’m selfish.”

Quentin took the drink, but his hand was shaking. It was hard to tell if he was still cold or trembling with emotion. “No one’s going to take me away from you, El. I just… I need to love someone who loves me back. We’re a package deal.”

“And yet,” Julia said as she stepped to the bar. “You two are riding around the neighborhood in a sleigh, and you left your date behind. Did you even ask if she was the one behind the presents?”

Quentin sipped his drink. “She said she was.”

“ _Quentin._ ” Julia just stared at him. “I don’t even know what to say to that. She confessed that she’s in love with you, and you just _left_?”

“It’s a lot, Jules. I haven’t spent time with her in years. I don’t know how she could be in love with me; she barely knows me. And I barely know her.”

“So you date.”

Quentin stared at her. “I’m tired. I’m sorry you don’t approve of how I run my love life. Frankly, I think your wedding is underwhelming and that you should be shouting your love for Kady from the rooftops because she’s amazing, not trying to low-budget your way out of it to buy a house you don’t really need. Just… since we’re sharing.”

For a second, Julia looked like she might explode at him, but then she exhaled slowly. “You’re right, Q. You’re very tired. You should go to bed.”

Eliot sipped his drink and eyed Julia appraisingly. “He was really too tired to go out in the first place, but Poppy wasn’t taking ‘no’ for an answer. Maybe that should tell you something about the kind of person she is.”

Then he looked to Quentin as Eliot came out from behind the bar, expression softening. “I—”

It was on the tip of his tongue to confess, to end all this craziness, but then he thought of what Julia had said—that she and Kady knew they were in love because they were in love, not because of some grand romantic gesture blurring the lines.

What if this blurred their lines? What if Quentin was just so relieved Eliot wasn’t Poppy that he started dating him without real romantic feelings for him?

Eliot had thought maybe the gifts were enough of a declaration to woo Quentin, to persuade him that Eliot was more than just a very close friend, but what if he was going about this all the wrong way?

Finally, he just finished, “I’ll come up to bed too.”

Quentin turned and headed up the stairs.

Julia called after them, “If you were smart, you’d make him sleep in his own bed, Q.”

“We all know _you’re_ the smart one, Jules.” He didn’t look behind him, just held up his middle finger until he was out of view. He continued to his room, where he set his drink down and then sat on his bed. He covered his face with his hands and tried to get his breathing under control.

Eliot sighed, sipped his drink, and then set it beside Quentin’s before going to sit beside him. He licked his lips, at a loss for words, and then gingerly extended his arm to embrace Quentin. “Hey. If you—If you want me to sleep in my own room, I will, Q. I’m not… I know this is a lot to…”

To what? All Quentin could do on his own was process Poppy’s lying lies. Eliot didn’t want to leave Quentin alone with that frustration, but now he was second-guessing his whole plot for Quentin’s grand seduction. It seemed poorly thought out to just throw caution to the wind and pursue this mad love before Quentin could start dating yet another non-Eliot person.

“I don’t want you to sleep in your own room. Julia’s probably right, but I don’t really want to be alone right now. I should’ve just let us ride all night on the… Oh shit.” Quentin hopped up and went to the window. He cast a spell and said, “ _Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”_

Quentin turned around and slouched against the wall. “Julia’s stressed, but I’m so tired of her taking out her anxieties on me. I want to be a good brother, but that does not include letting her dictate who I sleep with.”

His cheeks went red. “I mean. You know what I mean.”

“I do know what you mean,” Eliot conceded somewhat mournfully. He reached for his drink again, taking a hefty swig. Then, raising a brow, he asked, “Does Julia think we’re fucking? Is that why she’s so critical of me? Because I guess if she thinks I’m taking advantage of her brother, it all makes sense, but honestly, it’s not like I’ve ever been inappropriate, and—”

Eliot shut up before he could say too much.

“She knows you’re not.” Quentin had a strange expression on his face that was hard to read. “We talk. I mean…she’s not… She just thinks I’m still young and naïve. She’s worried I’m trading a personal life for a professional one. But I love what we do, and I love working with you. I don’t want to do anything else, and I don’t know why that’s not okay. Except that…”

Quentin looked on the verge of saying something, but then he shut down and shrugged. “Anyway, I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks Poppy is much.”

“Gorgeous, though. I mean… That’s a hell of a first girlfriend, Q. Firecracker doesn’t begin to cover it. I’m honestly surprised you’re not more eager to go back to that playground.” Eliot sighed, drank some more, and cocked his head to the side. “And she does seem _very_ fixated on you. I thought she was going to arrest me when we first arrived in Fillory, just haul me off to have you to herself. I guess that’s kind of romantic, if you squint.”

Dropping his voice to a mean whisper, Eliot added, “Julia squints a _lot_. It always looks like she’s falling asleep. I know I’m not _that_ boring.”

“Girlfriend is really overstating what happened. At the time, I wasn’t even sure she liked me. Like, as a person. I guess in some ways… not unlike what happened with Penny. And Alice, come to think about it. Guess Julia’s right about my patterns of behavior.” Quentin started stripping down out of the weird suit Poppy had put him in. “I should give her a chance, you’re right. We were teenagers. Maybe she’ll be more interested in talking to me this time.”

Once down to his boxers, Quentin dropped onto the bed with Eliot. “You should suggest Julia get her eyes checked next time.”

“What? I wasn’t saying that,” Eliot protested, losing track of what exactly his goals had been when confronted with shirtless Quentin. “I just…”

Trailing off, Eliot stood, polished off his drink, and stripped. “I don’t think Poppy likes me. She seems interested in climbing me like a tree or clawing my eyes out, and I can’t help thinking it’s both.”

Quentin nodded. “Yeah. I get that feeling, too. Not just about you, but in general. About everyone she looks at. But I guess she’s in love with me. I don’t know what to think about that. But… tomorrow she’s busy, so I say we enjoy her present and then work. It’ll be good, make me feel more stable, and if we’re not underfoot, maybe Julia will forget we’re here.”

“Here’s hoping,” Eliot said, toasting the idea with his glass, empty but for ice, which he took a moment to suck the bourbon from. Then he settled in beside Quentin on the bed and sighed. “I’m sorry I’m making everything so complicated for you, Q. This wasn’t what I envisioned.”

“Wasn’t what I envisioned either. I’m the one who dragged you into this. I had no idea there would be presents or… this much hostility, or I would’ve come alone.” Quentin finished his drink and left it on the nightstand before making himself comfortable under the covers. “But I’m glad you’re here. Too much more time on that dance floor, and Poppy would’ve sent me home in pieces.”

“That sounds scarily accurate. I can’t believe she woke you up for that.” Eliot chuckled and considered Quentin’s stressed, tired expression.

“What about a lullaby?” He drew Quentin as close as he dared. “I’ll sing you to sleep, make all the stress go away, just like I used to back in school.”

Usually Quentin had a girlfriend or, well, something going on, but sometimes he’d be awake at three in the morning, alone in the kitchen, and Eliot would run into him on his own insomniac trip. They’d end up curled up together, Eliot singing softly as Quentin dozed off on his shoulder. Those were some of Eliot’s favorite memories of Brakebills.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Quentin scooted closer to Eliot. He didn’t seem that worried about appropriateness, which was nice.

Eliot stroked Quentin’s upper arm up and down and pressed little kisses into his hair before whispering, “Turn off the lights, nerd.”

Once Quentin turned them off and settled back in, Eliot resumed stroking his skin and nuzzling his hair for a few moments before humming a familiar old song. Then, when Quentin knew what was coming, he sang, “Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup. They slither wildly as they slip away across the universe. Pools of sorrow, waves of joy are drifting through my opened mind, possessing and caressing me…”

The Christmas lights outside flashed in a kaleidoscope of color across Quentin’s little smile as Eliot sang, “Nothing’s gonna change my world, nothing’s gonna change my world.”


	9. Chapter 9

Exactly what maids a-milking was going to entail, Quentin hadn’t the faintest clue. The gifts had started more literally, but then there were swan boats and snorkeling, which wasn’t part of the song, but Quentin still felt a pleasant burn in his muscles from swimming.

Less pleasant if he thought about the forced march dancing, though that had been fun at first. That was life with Poppy, though. Things could start fun and interesting, but she’d often take everything way too far and someone (usually Quentin) wound up injured.

Out of everyone in the world, though, she had chosen Quentin, and he felt like he should at least attempt to figure out why. That probably meant spending time with her without Eliot. And really, Quentin was never going to get over Eliot if he never left Eliot’s pocket.

But it was such a _nice_ pocket. He loved that pocket. He wanted to live there.

This was all precisely Julia’s point, and Quentin got it. He didn’t really need it yelled at him, and he certainly didn’t need Julia tearing into Eliot in front of him. That just made Quentin protective.

He lay in bed, awake but not wanting to get up yet because Eliot was there, and everything was quiet. He wanted coffee, but he didn’t want to be confronted again. Honestly, he was shocked that Henry hadn’t come out to break it up, but he’d probably decided it was time for the siblings to settle their own fights.

Or he was also avoiding Julia.

The doorbell rang, and Quentin exhaled. It was a gift, and one that Quentin needed to receive. He got up and tugged on Eliot’s arm before heading down the stairs to answer the door. He was only in his boxers, but he didn’t really care at the moment. He was going to just dive right inside of the pocket world and check it out.

As the lady sang, Quentin touched the door of a sleek, Scandinavian-looking miniature building. It expanded, and he stepped inside, the elaborate presentation lost on him. As he stepped inside, he realized this was…not a pocket dimension, or at least…not a _private_ pocket dimension. There were people here. People looking at him.

People obviously wondering why Quentin was wearing only his boxer shorts.

It appeared to be a spa, and eight slightly different looking blond women were positioned in pairs around four sunken baths whose lips rested several inches below the polished stone floor. Everything smelled like milk and roses, which made sense as he looked around and realized the baths were full of milk with rose petals floating on top amid tiny golden beads of what was probably rose oil.

Then Eliot stepped into the spa through the door behind Quentin and clapped his hands together as if delighted. “Spa day!” He counted the baths, said, “Wait, one minute,” and then stuck his head back out to call for Kady and Julia.

He was also just wearing his boxers, which made Quentin feel slightly less awkward, except that Eliot genuinely didn’t seem to care he was mostly undressed in front of strangers.

Well, Quentin supposed if he was going to get into a bath, he wasn’t supposed to be wearing clothes anyway, right? He wasn’t sure.

He’d never really taken a public bath before. Showers, sure, on occasion, but a bath?

And with his sister? Well, not _with_ his sister—she would have her own bath—but he hoped she would chill out and not start yelling in the middle of a spa day.

Julia came in a little sheepishly and refused to make eye contact with Quentin. Whether that was anger or embarrassment, he wasn’t sure, but he didn’t want to push his luck. He moved to the bath in the farthest corner, where two blond ladies smiled up at him.

He supposed it was good that they were in an actual place with actual humans because the ramifications and ethics of fake people in pocket dimensions had just started to occur to him, and that would not induce relaxation.

“So, um… what do I need to do? Should I just go in in my boxers?”

“First,” said a tall blond lady in a neat red and pink uniform. “You get on the table.”

Behind her was a screen patterned with abstract flowers in watercolor. Behind that was a changing area and a massage table.

“Get undressed, get on the table, put a towel over your bottom if you’re shy.”

Quentin _was_ shy, so after pulling off his boxers, he got onto the table and pulled a folded towel over his waist, covering his butt. He put his head against the ringed pillow and waited.

The women came in, one at his head and the other at his feet. They poured warm oils on him and started to massage his tired muscles. One started at his shoulders and neck where he held most of his tension, the other at his feet, seeming to employ reflexology. The effect relaxed Quentin so much that he fell asleep.

He awoke to each woman massaging his hands, finding all the spots that grew sore or swollen when he worked too much and soothing them. When they finished, Quentin wasn’t sure he could move, let alone be worried about modesty.

Flexing his muscles under the towel, he found his glutes were a little sore, which he figured meant they had massaged them while he was asleep. For the best. He probably would’ve been too self-conscious had he not been conked out.

Then one woman helped him up while the other kept the towel draped around his waist as they moved past the screen. They helped him step into the tub.

The others were already in theirs, faces covered in white masks with rose petals over their eyes. Their heads were tipped back against pillows sitting on the rim of their tubs.

Once Quentin sank deep enough that his bits were covered, the woman pulled away the towel, and they gave him a moment to settle in, placing a pillow where they wanted his head.

The milk bath warmed him, and the scent made him a little lightheaded, but in a good way. He lay down with his head on the pillow and his body half floating in the tub, giving him a sense of weightlessness that helped drain the last of the tension from his body.

The women returned to slather his face in shea butter and dried goats’ milk, finishing it off with honey, and then rose petals over his eyes.

No one spoke, and it was perfect.

Quentin must’ve fallen asleep again in the bath because when he woke, Julia and Kady had already left, and he heard Eliot talking to someone while a shower ran, probably to rinse him off. Or maybe he was singing.

Quentin’s attendants noticed he’d awakened and indicated for him to rinse his face in the tub, which he did until the mask was off. His skin felt really soft and luxuriously oiled.

“You had a lot of tension. More than your friends, I think.” One woman offered her hand to help him up the steps. The other held up a towel for his modesty. He walked up into it and gathered the towel around him, feeling loose and happy.

“Maybe. She’s got a wedding.” Quentin let himself be led beyond the screen to a private shower with a rainfall showerhead that was more relaxing than thorough. He closed the door around him and just let the warm water dribble over him, smelling of mint and lavender, caressing his body slowly.

When he came out, there was a stack of warm, fluffy towels for him to dry himself and a pile of folded clothes that included one of his Christmas sweaters, this one with a kitten who was wild about presents.

Eliot must’ve gotten those from the house.

Quentin changed into them and then came out. The women directed him to the portal. He was the last one there.

Back inside the house, everything was calm. Eliot sat at the kitchen counter drinking coffee and eating an omelet. He smiled when he saw Quentin, then got up and poured Quentin a mug of coffee and started making him an omelet too.

Quentin sat on the stool next to the one Eliot had vacated, not feeling any need to talk. He just enjoyed his skin and his body and how luxurious everything felt, even his silly sweater.

After a soft sigh, Quentin said, “I needed that.”

“I know you did, sweetheart.” Eliot smiled at him as he flipped Quentin’s omelet. “Kady and Julia did too. I think they went upstairs to have sex.” He laughed and sighed, seeming contented. “That was definitely my favorite gift so far.”

“That was really great.” _And not Poppy’s style at all_. Quentin sipped his coffee, thinking about another nap, but honestly, that would be insane. He pushed his sleeve up and touched his skin. “I’m so soft now. I didn’t know my skin could be this soft.”

He touched his face. “And I smell like roses. I guess that’s not the manliest smell, but I like it.”

Laughing gently, Eliot said, “I smell like roses too. We’re soft and rosy _together_. That makes it super manly.”

Then he plated Quentin’s omelet and placed it in front of Quentin before resuming his own seat and tucking back into his breakfast.

“Even my beard is soft,” Eliot murmured as he rubbed his cheek with one hand. Then he leaned over and rubbed his cheek against Quentin’s. “ _Sooooft.”_

Quentin tilted his head and moved in to nuzzle Eliot’s face and beard, just enjoying the sensation before his brain caught up and he cleared his throat and stopped. His stomach also growled so there was that. “Soft boys. I think that’s about right. It’s nice that Kady and Julia got to relax, have a little romance. Gosh, I hope it doesn’t confuse them too much.”

He rolled his eyes and let out a sigh before getting his fork and digging into his omelet. “Mm yum.”

“That’s a special, delicious omelet just for you, Q. Fresh, marinated mozzarella and homemade pesto. Relish it.” Eliot nudged Quentin with his elbow and gave him a sidelong look that could’ve meant just about anything.

Eliot was always making Quentin food, so this wasn’t anything new. He wasn’t entirely sure why it was special.

Then Henry walked in, dressed to the nines as usual, and poured himself some coffee. “Good morning, gentlemen. I understand you had a spa day. I hope you’re planning to get some work done with the rest of your time?”

“That’s the plan. Are you going out?” Quentin took another bite of his omelet. It was very good.

As relaxed as he was, everything seemed to be better, though. He had some edits and new ideas for where the script was going, and he needed to hop to so that Eliot wouldn’t catch up and have to make changes to panels.

“I’m heading to the wedding venue to continue preparations. Kady and Julia were supposed to go with me, but… Well, they’re practicing a different kind of magic at the moment, I believe.” Henry sounded vaguely disturbed by the knowledge his daughter and her fiancée were upstairs having sex, but at least they’d soundproofed their bedroom.

“Mm, yeah, I think they needed to unwind,” Eliot said quietly, smiling into his coffee. “It’s a stressful time.”

Henry gave Eliot a sharp look, eyeing him slowly, and then grunted affirmation before looking to Quentin. “I don’t suppose you’ve given any thought to your speech? You _are_ your sister’s best man.”

“Henry, is this really the time? Q’s just finally taking deep breaths, and—” Eliot cut himself off as Henry’s hard gaze fell on him again. “Um. I mean. Dean Fogg, your son is having difficulty with—”

“Quentin will be fine. You’d be surprised what he can handle,” Henry asserted, returning his gaze to Quentin. “Talk to Julia. Think about her relationship with Kady and what themes might be appropriate to touch upon. I just thought while you were relaxed and writing on your comic, it might be a good time to let your inspiration flow into other realms as well.”

Henry had poured his coffee into a tall, stainless steel travel thermos, and then he came around to squeeze Quentin’s shoulder reassuringly. “I will see you later, Quentin.”

“See you, Dad.” Quentin patted Henry’s hand gently, smiling up at him until he turned and headed out the door.

The last thing Quentin wanted to do was enter the lion’s den now that he was finally relaxed. He didn’t think Julia would love him walking in and demanding attention during her afterglow. They needed some time apart to regroup and lick their wounds.

After taking a sip of coffee, Quentin returned his attention to Eliot. “Today is for working. I’ve already got a draft of a toast written up for the reception. We talk practically every day.”

Or they had before Quentin started dating Penny. Eliot didn’t need to know all of that.

“I think he just wants me and Julia to resolve things while he’s not around to hear the yelling.” Quentin grinned and then finished up his omelet.

“Probably,” Eliot acknowledged with a faint smile. He finished his omelet too, then collected their plates and loaded them into the dishwasher before refilling his enormous coffee mug. Looking back to Quentin, eyes bright, he asked, “Shall we get down to business?”

“Yeah, let’s do this.”

~*~

Everything after the spa day was so chill, Eliot wasn’t once tempted to break out the herb. He kept the Red Lotuses coming though, topping up Quentin’s drink festively, and they worked steadily through the pages due. Kady and Julia eventually went downstairs, went out, came back, and carried on, seeming easier together since their milk baths and massages, but they didn’t bother Quentin and Eliot until dinnertime, when Kady brought up plates of lasagna for them.

“All right, gentlemen,” she said as she set their food on the coffee table with a decanter of red wine. “I know you don’t want to stop working just to eat, and after some consideration, Julia has agreed we should allow you to remain in the zone. Please actually consume food. Drinking liquor all night on an empty stomach is not conducive to good health.”

“Thanks, Kady,” Eliot said without looking up from his art. “Please relay my gratitude to Julia, if you will.” After a beat, he added, “Don’t forget to refresh the soundproofing on your bedroom tonight. You really put it to the test this morning.”

“Heh.” Kady grinned broadly. Then she turned her attention on Quentin. “You need anything, Q?”

Quentin stared at her hard for an uncomfortably long moment and then shrugged. “Nah, I can’t think of anything. Thanks for helping the other night. I kinda remember you were there, in that way I kinda remember anything that night. Glad you guys enjoyed your milk baths.”

“Anytime, little brother.” Kady winked at him, punched his shoulder, and then took off down the stairs like her sap allotment had been exhausted.

Eliot stretched, surveyed his art, and turned his attention on Quentin. “So we’ll eat dinner, drink our wine, move on to cocktails while we progress through these pages, and then pour ourselves into bed around three. That should put us back on track to meet our deadline. Thoughts? Objections? Petition to take off early for masturbatory purposes?”

“Three? I guess that’s six hours of sleep or so; they usually bring the presents around nine or ten.” How Q could be so tired still after sleeping through half the milk bath experience, Eliot didn’t know. “As for masturbation, well, let’s see how good this lasagna is first. I mean, it looks pretty tasty, but I don’t know if I’m _that_ excited about it.”

Laughing, Eliot moved to the couch to join Quentin for a quick bite.

This was the closest they’d come all trip to the dynamic they usually had back in New York City, with Eliot rising from his drafting table to come flop next to Quentin in his modest kitchenette and gobble down whatever delivery Quentin had ordered. They’d bicker congenially over line art or dialogue, kick each other under the table, and just enjoy the pleasure of working with their best friend.

Eliot _missed_ this. Fillory was like a whole other world, and this steady progress toward a goal Eliot increasingly worried about… Well. He wished, just a little, that he could turn back the clock.

Brooding kept Eliot distracted until close to bedtime, though he was far perkier than Quentin in a mood. The alcohol helped, as did the fact Eliot’s art really was coming along well. What he saw in his head was _almost_ what he captured visually, with a gratifying degree of similarity. It could always be better, but it was good enough, at least, to turn into their publisher, and Eliot felt relief in making progress toward a goal that _didn’t_ freak him out.

Julia and Kady went to bed around midnight, and Henry had been in bed two hours by then. It was just Eliot and Quentin left whispering and moving around the quiet house. With all the downstairs lamps off except for the holiday lights, everything sparkled and shined in red and gold and green. It made Quentin look extra adorable in his holiday sweater, his work long since done, curled up in the corner of the couch sipping another cocktail. His eyes kept drifting shut before he swayed and startled himself awake.

Eliot had been pretending not to notice, but when he reached a stopping point, he stood and pointed toward the bedroom. “Let’s go, Fogg. March.”

Quentin held his cocktail and sat back against the couch. Then he let out a sigh and slithered his way down to the floor, landing on his butt and grinning. It was the sort of doofy thing he did to make Eliot smile, or sometimes to show exhaustion and weariness.

“Guess it doesn’t matter if I don’t sleep or not, Poppy’s presents are going to keep coming. Today’s was nice, though.”

With surprising grace, Quentin hopped up and headed to the bedroom. Eliot followed, smiling faintly. Q really was ridiculously, unfairly precious. It was like he had no idea why anyone would fall in love with him, but how could they _not?_

Once they were in the bedroom with the door shut, Eliot caught Quentin before he could sit on the bed and pointed at the bathroom. “Teeth, face, PJs.”

Then Eliot gathered clean boxers to sleep in and headed into the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face. It might be three a.m., and he might be really, honestly, quite drunk, but he had grooming standards to maintain. Especially with fucking Poppy constantly homing in on his man.

Well. Not _his_ man. Although Eliot felt he certainly had seniority and Quentin was _basically_ his man.

It was all too complicated to think about right now. The point was, he had called dibs. It didn’t matter Poppy had dated Quentin—or at least slept with him—before Eliot was even aware Quentin existed. What mattered was that—

Eliot wasn’t entirely sure.

But _he_ had arranged for the twelve days of presents, goddamn it, and at great personal expense, and this whole thing had _devoured_ his clothing budgets for the next year, and he’d still be wearing December’s outerwear in _February_ , but that was what love _was._

As he brushed his teeth, he looked over at Quentin and smiled, only realizing he was foaming at the mouth when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Fortunately, Quentin was also foaming at the mouth and gave him a big toothpasty grin.

It really was terribly domestic to be sharing a bathroom with Quentin. Eliot had spent many nights over at Quentin’s apartment, but their schedules were loose enough that they didn’t fight over a sink. Even if they had, Quentin would’ve just used his kitchen sink like a heathen.

Quentin rinsed first. He had stripped down to his boxers and a t-shirt and used a band to keep his hair back. Leaning in toward the mirror, Quentin examined his face. “My skin is still glowing. I was worried it would be greasy, but it’s not at all.”

“No, the milkmaids knew what they were doing,” Eliot agreed, smiling as he washed his own face, moisturized, applied anti-wrinkle cream around his eyes, and then stripped naked to change his boxers. “My beard is still so soft I feel like I’ve been grooming it wrong all this time, which really feels like a major rebuke, because my beard oil is _not_ cheap.”

“You put oil in your beard?” Surely Quentin had seen that before, but then he might not have really known what he was looking at. Left to his own devices, Quentin would wash his face with bar soap, which was what he was starting to do.

In his defense, Quentin appeared to be paying more attention to Eliot stripping than washing his own face until Eliot helpfully took away the bar soap and squeezed some facial cleanser on Quentin’s fingers. He tore his gaze from Eliot to lather and then rinse his face.

“I can ask Poppy where that spa is; I bet they have stuff for sale you can use.” Quentin slipped by and jumped into his bed. “Anything else you gonna order me to do before I can sleep, Mr. Bossypants?”

“Bossypants?” Eliot echoed, wrinkling his nose. “I prefer to be addressed as _Daddy_ , as you well know.”

Then, thinking it through, Eliot added, “Yeah, ask Poppy about the spa. I’d love to buy their skincare line for holiday presents.”

Smiling wryly, he turned out the lights and climbed into bed before rolling onto his mildly drunken side and extending his lower arm for Quentin to come snuggle his back against Eliot’s front. “Time for sleeps now, though.”

“All right, _Daddy_.” Quentin said it very sarcastically, but it was still a little hot. Especially when he snuggled in tight against Eliot.

It was probably Eliot’s fantastical imagination or his inebriation that made it seem like Quentin gave an extra butt wiggle as he settled in.

“Damn right,” Eliot agreed, smiling into Quentin’s hair as he tried to talk his agitated libido into hibernating for the night. Fortunately, after so many years of Quentin’s totally unaware sexiness, Eliot had that down to an art.

~*~

When Eliot blinked his eyes sleepily open in the morning, the sun was already high. Either Quentin hadn’t bothered to wake him for the gift’s arrival, or the gift hadn’t yet come. Considering what Eliot knew about today’s gift, he suspected it was the latter.

Today’s gift would be _good_.

Apparently Quentin had also slept in, as the shower shut off and, after a few minutes, Quentin came out of the bathroom in a soft gray sweater patterned with snowflakes. His hair was still damp but quickly drying. “Oh, hey, you’re awake. No ladies dancing yet. Maybe they had a late night, too.”

“Dancing ladies generally do,” Eliot agreed.

He flung off the blanket and sat up, sighing. “I suppose I should avail myself of the shower as well, if you left me any hot water.” As if Henry Fogg’s water heater wasn’t enchanted to never run out. “I suppose if you’re willing to wait half an hour, I’ll make us breakfast when I’m done.”

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and rolled his shoulders until they popped before glancing over at Quentin. “Muffins? I think I’d like some festive cranberry and candied orange muffins. And London Fog lattes.”

“I think it’s almost lunchtime, but I’m not going to say no to any of that. I’ll stay here and wait. I don’t want to deal with…” Quentin gestured, and Eliot knew what he meant. He picked up his phone and flopped into bed. “I should probably replenish our supply of Christmas cookies at some point. I’ll catch us up on where we are on the book while you get clean. Should I put on some music or will you soundproof?”

“Well, first off, I am absolutely going to sing in the shower if you play music, so if you want to catch that show, I’ll forego the muffling charm until I’m ready to rub one out. Secondly, if you bake more Christmas cookies, I will stay in the kitchen and keep you company. I might even help you decorate.” Eliot winked at Quentin and then stood and headed for the bathroom. “I assume you’re going to play something festive?”

Quentin blushed, and it was so obvious that he was trying to be provocative and troll Eliot, but instead now he was embarrassed and probably thinking about Eliot rubbing one out.

Good. Little brat.

“Um, yeah. Okay, I can put on some Christmas music if you want. That usually doesn’t really do it for me but…”

He fussed with his phone for a minute and then “Jingle Bell Rock” started playing, because apparently Quentin was _that_ kind of nerd. Eliot sang along with gusto as he slipped into the bathroom and undressed. He left the door half open so he could hear the music.

 _“Snowing and blowing up bushels of fun… Now the jingle hop has begun…”_ Eliot turned on the shower as he sang and found the water was already flowing at the perfect temperature as he climbed in. He belted the lyrics as he stood under the hot spray, dancing goofily under the water as he scrubbed his various bits.

Usually Eliot wasn’t really the Christmas type, but Quentin was so damn endearing about all of it that it was rubbing off.

_“What a bright time, it’s the right time, to rock the night away. Jingle bell time is a swell time to go riding in a one-horse sleigh.”_

He washed his hair quickly and then took his time conditioning it as he exfoliated his elbows and feet. When he was finally done washing, he worked the promised muffling charm and took matters in hand. Maybe Christmas music didn’t do it for Q, but seeing Quentin smile like that, blushing, happy…

It didn’t take Eliot very long to finish.

Loose-limbed and relaxed, he turned off the shower, did a quick spell to clean it, and then toweled himself off. He pulled on his dressing gown, took a few moments to trim his beard and moisturize, and then sauntered out into Quentin’s bedroom, grinning dopily.

“Did you enjoy the concert?” he asked, raising a brow. “I put on that little show just for you.”

“Was I supposed to be watching? You were naked, right?” Quentin looked up at Eliot with such unabashed sincerity it was hard not to pinch his cheeks or kiss him deeply. “But you sounded good. I listened. I should hook this up to the sound system downstairs.”

His phone was currently playing Elvis Presley’s version of “Here Comes Santa Claus,” and it was terribly cute.

“Hopefully no one will feel the need to explain to me that Santa isn’t real, because he is.”

“Sure he is, Q.” Eliot smiled indulgently. This wasn’t the first time Quentin had asserted a belief in Santa, but Eliot had always let it slide. Honestly, though… In some ways Q was a little _too_ childlike and wholesome. Was it really a wonder Eliot had been shocked to discover the depths of his dicksucking, bondage-y depravity?

“Ask Julia; she met him, too.” Quentin got up and headed out and down the stairs, leaving Eliot wondering.

This was the first time Quentin had mentioned Julia in connection with Santa. She wasn’t nearly the fantasist that Q was.

Eliot hurried after Quentin, well aware he wore only his dressing gown, and asked, “Really? Julia met Santa? _You_ met Santa?”

Blinking, Eliot tried to collect his wits. “You’re telling me that not only are _gods_ real, but _Santa Claus_ is too?”

“Eliot, I tell you this _every year_.” Quentin turned to the living room which, in the open floorplan, was overseen by the large kitchen and its bar. He pointed at the huge fireplace. “Right there. Though he prefers to be called Nick since the whole whitewashing thing. But yeah, he’s a magician. That’s part of why we celebrate. What, did you think I met a mall Santa and couldn’t let it go?”

“I just thought you liked the presents and the reindeer,” Eliot answered honestly, looking around the living room with wide eyes. “Santa— _Nick_ was here? In this room?” Then he blinked again. “Whitewashing? You mean Santa’s…” Eliot opened his mouth, gaping for a moment, and then grinned fiercely. “Is Santa black? Please tell me Santa is black and my parents can get just absolutely wrecked.”

“And he doesn’t wear all red and he’s not fat. But yeah, there are elves and reindeer. He can come in through the chimney but doesn’t have to. He brings gifts to kind-hearted children. Not everyone gets to meet him, though. Sometimes he just leaves a present. You ever get an unexplained present at Christmas when you were young?” Quentin turned and grinned at Eliot. “It’s not necessarily a big present or flashy. Might just be a piece of fruit or a new pair of socks if you needed them. A journal. Candy. For a couple of years, I just got a hug.”

“That—” Eliot just stared at Quentin. That was both pitiful and deeply precious, and Eliot _loved_ Quentin fiercely in those moments. After a few seconds, he pulled it together enough to shutter his expression and reassume his previous relatively cool demeanor. “No, I didn’t get presents, really. I…wasn’t an especially kind-hearted child. I’ve…never been considered an especially kind-hearted _person_ , just…in general.”

“Yes, you are.” Quentin frowned and headed toward the kitchen. “I don’t think there’s really a naughty or nice list. He said I was the first person he visited for as many years as he had in a long time. Something about the corrupting influence and violence of the world, that kindness was becoming more rare, even in children.”

The whole thing seemed to make Quentin sad. Then he gave a sudden start, came over to Eliot, and hugged him tight. “I bet you could’ve used a hug back then.”

“I was fine,” Eliot lied, and he knew Q knew he was lying. He hugged him back, though, and sighed. “I’m not a good person, Quentin. Someday you’re going to accept that. It’s inevitable. I’m just a not-very-good person who cares about you in particular.”

“Things can happen to you when you’re young that may make you less kindhearted. Sometimes you have to do what you do in order to survive. Nick understood that. It wasn’t a judgement. Sometimes things are what they are.” Quentin pulled back to look up into Eliot’s eyes. “You saw me alone and scared at Brakebills and you were… kind of king there. But you saw me struggling, and you wanted to help. Away from being in a place you had to just survive, you reached out to help. That seems pretty good to me.”

“Honestly, I just thought you were hot.” Eliot smiled at Quentin, trying to play it off, although it touched him that Quentin really saw him that way.

Quentin rolled his eyes. “I’m not hot. I’m arguably not unattractive, but there were much hotter guys at Brakebills than me. You felt soft and warm for me because you’re kind. You’re a kind boy. Deal with it.”

“I will simply never accept that,” Eliot responded, sliding his hands down Quentin’s back to gently squeeze his butt cheeks because he could. He waggled his brows at Quentin mischievously and then drew away, suddenly remembering he wasn’t even really dressed. It wasn’t a problem yet, but too much more groping, and it was gonna turn into one.

He headed toward the kitchen. “Now how about that breakfa—brunch I promised you?"

“That’s okay, Eliot. I will believe in you for you.” Quentin followed Eliot and started water boiling while Eliot pulled together ingredients for the muffins.

They spent most of the day in the kitchen, and Eliot never actually went back upstairs to get dressed, and no one said anything about it, and he forgot completely he was just in a flimsy silk dressing gown.

Quentin started off baking cookies in a festive mode, and then as the day wore on without the gift’s arrival, he began _stress_ baking, which was much less enjoyable for Eliot because his quips and teasing began to fall flat rather than resulting in cookie dough flung at his face.

By the time it was getting dark—seasonably early, though—they’d both worked themselves into something of a tizzy. Eliot had known this gift would likely arrive later simply because of its nature, but he couldn’t tell Quentin that without revealing the identity of the giver, and it was all such a mess.

Then, as the first stars emerged, the doorbell rang. Eliot suppressed a smile as Quentin dashed to answer the door. The urge to smile evaporated as Quentin opened the door to reveal the singer, the gift-bearer, and fucking _Poppy._

Oh right. Tonight was the carnival or whatever, and they’d promised to go with her. Fuck.

It was then that Eliot realized he was hardly dressed because the breeze rippling through the foyer was distinctly chilly where it blew against his bare legs and toyed with the hem of his robe. As if he’d even go upstairs to change now that Poppy was here. He couldn’t, could he? She was a lying liar who couldn’t be trusted and at least as in lust with Quentin as Eliot was, which he had previously believed impossible. Of course, it was possible it was less Quentin-specific lust in her case and more a general chaotic-evil horniness.

“Oh hey, Poppy!” Quentin actually sounded happy to see her. “Yesterday was great. I was getting worried about tonight.”

“Aw, you’ve got nothing to worry about, Quinny. I’m here!” She flung herself at Quentin and appeared to be going for a kiss, which Quentin easily deflected at kind of a professional level.

“So what have we got tonight?” Quentin looked at the singer expectantly. “Dancing?”

“I know you love dancing,” Poppy said, damn her.

Julia and Kady arrived at the door looking hopeful. After that milk bath, and perhaps thinking the gifter was Poppy, Julia seemed to be more into the presents. “Poppy! Hey!”

Poppy released Quentin and hugged Julia in a way that made Kady frown and trade looks with Eliot. Eliot rolled his eyes, and Kady inclined her head slightly toward Quentin in a way that seemed to indicate _tell him_ , which Eliot steadfastly refused to do.

Instead, he cleared his throat and held out his arms to Poppy to distract her from groping Julia and crooned, “Poppy! I hear we have a carnival waiting for us after this?”

“After what?” Poppy’s brow furrowed.

“The nine ladies dancing,” Julia provided before the awkwardness was noticed. “I’m definitely looking forward to seeing what this is going to be. These are so good, Poppy!”

Quentin looked briefly confused, but then the woman started to sing. Eliot folded his arms across his chest after being denied a hug from _Poppy_ of all people, fighting back a truly annoyed harrumph.

_“On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…nine ladies dancing, eight maids a-milking, seven swans a-swimming, six geese a-laying, five golden riiiings…four colly birds, three French hens, two turtledoves, and a partridge in a pear tree!”_

Eliot and Kady had joined in the singing, trying to outdo each other with little trills and runs. Eliot finally gave up as Kady snapped her fingers and swayed, belting that final note so remarkably that he could only watch and applaud.

Then Kady took a bow and slid her arm around Julia, extricating her from Poppy’s grasp and reclaiming her fiancée.

“Go on, Q. Let’s see the gift,” Eliot encouraged, motioning to Quentin to go ahead.

The miniature building tonight was a swanky nightclub adorned with a bright neon sign proclaiming it a Discotheque. A tiny rainbow flag flew from the front door, brushing Quentin’s fingers as he reached to open it. The door expanded, revealing a fog-machine at work on the other side, with multi-colored strobing lights and a glowing, polished dancefloor set parallel to a remarkably chic, industrial-style bar.

As they all filed inside, music began pulsing— _Ring My Bell,_ because of course it was—and there were indeed nine ladies dancing, each outfitted in a fabulously sexy disco-era spangled outfit and gyrating around the dancefloor in time to the music. Eliot’s gaze drifted from face to face without real interest, merely cataloging the quality of the execution of his gift, until he locked eyes with a familiar face.

“Margo?” Eliot’s heart pounded as a sudden spike of excitement flooded his veins with adrenaline. He started toward her, mouth open and eyes wide. “Margo! Oh my god!”

Margo was clad in gold sequins, hair curly, high, and glorious as she looked down on Eliot, smirking. “I know it’s not fashionable to be overdressed, El, but it’s generally accepted that you should wear _clothes_.”

She glanced at Quentin, who Poppy had immediately reclaimed. Having shed her coat, she revealed a skin-tight red dress that was both deep cut and short. That was what she was wearing to a night carnival?

Unfortunately, her inappropriate dress worked for this particular present.

Quentin started toward Eliot when Margo hopped down from her stage but was stopped short by Poppy, who pulled him back and whirled him around.

Margo eyed them and then looked back at Eliot. “What kind of fuckery is this?”

Eliot wrapped his arms around Margo and whispered in her ear, “Poppy claimed credit for the gifts. Quentin will find out who they’re really from when the love letter comes with the twelfth day’s gift. He’s promised not to bang her in the meantime.”

Then Eliot stepped back and spun Margo, drawing her into dancing with him. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d danced around a club hardly dressed, but it had certainly been too long. She’d been so ambitious after graduation, so determined to take on the world, and Eliot…

Well, Eliot had wanted to do what Quentin wanted to do, which amounted to doodling professionally, which was fine, but very much _not_ what Margo was doing with her life. They were rarely even in the same time zone.

“Well, shit, Eliot.” She reached up and cupped his face. “You really cocked this up.”

Margo smiled and put her arms around him, slow dancing him through the disco beat. “But I’m not going to complain too hard if I get you to myself for a few. It’s been too long, and I’ve missed you.”

Julia and Kady had come in to enjoy the dancing ladies and made their way over to Margo for some quick hugs before they started dancing together.

Poppy had apparently decided the disco theme meant Quentin needed to be in a _Saturday Night Fever_ white tuxedo—or at least Eliot assumed that was what happened because surely Quentin wasn’t masochistic enough to do that to himself—and he was dancing, but kept trying to peer past Poppy to see what Eliot was up to. Eliot gave him a little wave to reassure him.

Then Margo leaned in and rested her head on Eliot’s bare chest. Eliot wrapped himself around her gratefully and snuggled as they swayed. This was so nice.

“I’ve missed you too,” he sighed, tucking his chin atop her head and closing his eyes. He smiled as he breathed her in, relishing her warmth and softness against his taller form. “I’m a mess without you, Bambi, as you can obviously see. It’s been years, and I just keep…” He sighed.

Then it occurred to him to wonder what Margo was doing dancing in a random private club when she was a jet-setting international businessmagician.

Drawing back just enough to peer at her face, he asked, “What are you even doing here? I didn’t—Are you— Not that I’m not _extremely_ grateful for your presence, but how?”

“Who do you think is running this shit, numbnuts?” Margo looked up at him and stroked his face again. “Took it on as a subcontractor. Pouncy Silverkitten could never. Not like this. Not for my boy. Had to be perfect. Only one person can turn out something as spectacular as this under a time crunch. Am I wrong?”

She grinned up at him, and while it had been so long, it also felt like no time at all had passed. She was still his Bambi, and nothing could change that. Not time, not distance, not Quentin Fogg and his mad quest for love when it was standing right in front of him.

“You are so lucky to have me.”

“I should’ve known,” Eliot admitted, thinking back on the rainbow fish with the swan boats, the million little details in each gift, the perfectly presented miniature buildings and cages when all Eliot had asked Pouncy for was some kind of gift box wrapped up with a red velvet bow.

Who else would’ve gone to so much trouble for Eliot? Who but Margo would realize what a momentous thing this was for him?

He sucked in a sharp breath and schooled his features into neutral lines while his heart filled to overflowing. Ducking his head, he brushed his lips across hers adoringly and whispered, “Thank you, Margo. I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything. I’m just sorry I let so much time pass. And that I let you fall for such a doofus.”

Margo’s big brown eyes cut to the side, and Eliot followed her gaze to see Quentin had taken over the dancefloor in full John Travolta mode to _You Should Be Dancing._ He was rocking his hips, spinning, gesturing lewdly, walking in place, and then pointing in the air. Then he dropped to the floor in the splits, hopped back up, put one hand on his hip, pointed with the other and thrust his hips.

While that could very well be Poppy and a dancing spell, Quentin looked entirely too happy to be doing it, which suggested this was just Quentin going full Quentin to the Bee Gees. Eliot hadn’t realized he had it in him.

Kady and Julia were giggling. Poppy stood off to the side clapping to the beat and nodding.

“There really needs to be a shot or something for disco fever,” Margo said flatly.

Eliot laughed and murmured, “I can think of a few things to settle the boy down.” He waggled his eyebrows and nudged Margo before his expression softened and he sighed. “You have to admit he’s pretty cute though, right? Doofus, but _cute_ doofus.”

“You could do better.” Margo gave him side eye and smirked. “But the heart wants what the heart wants. So I’m in it now. You want me to handle the side chick? I can make it look like an accident. Or not like an accident. We can skip town, be in Ibiza before she hits the floor.”

She was joking, of course. Probably.

Maybe.

Who knew?

“Ladies! More dancing!” Margo clapped her hands, and the remaining eight ladies dancing hopped from their stages and crowded Quentin, forming a tight circle around him. Poppy tried to break through in a few ways but failed with each attempt.

Eliot laughed and kissed Margo’s cheek in sheer delight. They’d always been the best team, but he suspected Margo was sort of carrying him much of the time. He’d brought panache and a certain drunken charm to the whole outfit, but without Margo…

Well, he couldn’t even get Quentin to date him, and Quentin had dated some highly questionable people.

As the ladies danced around Quentin, with Quentin seeming really to enjoy being the center of attention for once, Eliot leaned against Margo and watched, one arm around her waist. Mostly he just wanted to see Q happy, but to see Poppy thwarted was a nice side effect.

Julia looked like she might intervene, but Kady pulled her back and started dancing seductively with her, which appeared to mollify Julia for the moment.

“Guessing getting into a threesome with them before the wedding is not a good idea?” Margo looked from Kady and Julia back up at Eliot and squeezed him again. “You’ve really got it bad, don’t you? Come here.”

She turned Eliot to her and cupped his face again, gazing deep into his eyes. Then she leaned in and kissed him. Chastely, compared how Eliot knew she could kiss, but showy too. He wasn’t sure how long it had gone on when he felt a hand on his arm.

Quentin was panting softly, hair matted to the side of his face. “Hey, El, can we talk for a sec?”

Margo released Eliot, looking like the cat who swallowed the canary. “Good to see you too, Q.”

“Um, yeah. Hey, Margo. Been a long time.” Quentin looked her over but avoided eye contact.

Poppy bounded up behind Quentin and wrapped her arms around him. “Come on, let’s dance, Quinny!”

“Quinny?” Margo’s face said it all. “Oh Q. You can’t let her call you that.”

“It’s… I mean, it’s her… thing.” Quentin looked embarrassed and a little overwhelmed. Despite Poppy pulling on him, he still held Eliot’s arm.

“Oh, um.” Eliot beamed at Margo and leaned over to kiss her temple before nodding to Quentin. He brought up his hand to cover Quentin’s on his arm, giving it a reassuring little squeeze. “Of course, Q. Is it time for the night carnival already? I should probably go get dressed a little more warmly, hm?”

“Yeah, um, yeah probably that too. But, you know, what we said before… about… rash decisions?” Quentin leaned in and looked at Eliot meaningfully.

“That they’re the best decisions ever?” Margo offered, beaming at them both. “There’s a night carnival? I guess we could ditch this clam bake if you want, El.”

“What are you even doing here, Margo?” Quentin asked, snapping a little.

The look Margo gave him made him cover his mouth.

“There was an ad for dancing girls, and I figured I’ve been doing it for free all this time, why not get paid? And look, I found my Eliot.”

“Children, children, don’t fight. Daddy loves you both.” Eliot sighed and took Quentin aside, trusting Margo to keep Poppy occupied long enough for them to have a word.

When they were a few feet away, Eliot took Quentin’s hands in his, looked into his eyes, and said, “Q, that rash decisions conversation was about you waiting until you get the last gift before doing anything dramatic, right? And agreeing we wouldn’t change our friendship until then.” He raised a brow. “So what’s the problem?”

Surely Quentin wasn’t upset about Eliot kissing Margo.

“How is that fair? I haven’t seen Poppy in forever, but I’m not kissing her.” Quentin did seem rather agitated. He toyed with his hair, frowning and kind of adorably jealous even if it was terribly misplaced. “Am I allowed to kiss people? I mean… you two do have kind of a history. I mean, sexually.”

Eliot blinked at Quentin and tried to make sense of the conversation. Was Quentin really implying Eliot kissing Margo was the same as Quentin kissing _Poppy?_

“Did you…want to kiss Poppy?” Eliot’s chest constricted, and he struggled to control his expression. “I didn’t actually agree not to kiss people. You didn’t ask me not to. I’m not sure why you would? No one’s sending me romantic gifts, and Margo wouldn’t care if we slept in the same bed.”

“I mean, no. But if we’re kissing people, I mean, what if there’s mistletoe?” Quentin folded his arms, looking petulant and sulky. “It’s kind of weird that I’m getting these romantic gifts and then suddenly Margo shows up after a long absence. What if they’re for you from Margo?”

Eliot burst into laughter and covered his mouth with his hand, peering at Quentin above it. He shook his head and shrugged one shoulder. “Didn’t Poppy say they were from her for you?”

“Yeah. I guess that’s true.” Quentin looked over at Margo. She gave him a wink and a little wave before returning her attention to Poppy. “She’s always had a thing for you, El. You don’t think that would change our friendship?”

The fact Eliot was exceedingly queer notwithstanding, Eliot could sort of see where Quentin was coming from. Margo was the person in the world he loved most, the person closest to him, not counting Quentin. If Margo came back into their lives in a big way, she would take up space that was habitually Quentin’s.

Not that Margo had a thing for him, or… But Eliot knew his friendships frequently disregarded platonic boundaries altogether.

He sighed and reached out to drag Quentin into a hug, kissing the side of his head. Then he said, “I’ll tell her she has to wait until after Christmas then. Right? That’s what we agreed?”

“Yeah. If that’s okay? I mean, just kissing and stuff, I guess. Or like, are you still going to want to come back home with me? Would you rather stay with her where she is?” Quentin gave Eliot those puppy dog eyes, which were just about impossible to resist.

“Are you boys fighting over me?” Margo sauntered over; Poppy followed. It was evident that Poppy expected Margo to settle against Eliot, but instead, she hugged Quentin, then pulled away to cup his face and leaned in to kiss him softly and slowly.

When she finished, Quentin kept his eyes shut as if still reliving it. Margo had that effect on people.

“There, done. Everyone’s been kissed.” Margo smirked as if she’d done a clever thing.

“I haven’t,” Poppy said, playfully pouting, so Margo turned and kissed her as well, because of course she did.

Only Poppy seemed less surprised and more grabby than the others. Quentin watched with great interest until the kiss broke, and then he cleared his throat and looked away.

Margo held her hands out to everyone. “Anyone else? You know the first one is free; after that I jack up the price.”

At least that stopped Quentin’s fussing.

For now.

“Onward to the night carnival. Let’s get you some clothes, Eliot.”

Thirty minutes later, Eliot was dressed appropriately for a night out with Margo in a brocade suit of deep forest green with a crisp white dress shirt mostly unbuttoned and a long, fringed emerald-and-gold silk paisley scarf. It was very festive, in Eliot’s opinion, a nod toward Quentin’s sensibilities; he had to compete with Poppy in that tiny red dress after all. He’d trimmed his beard and styled his hair, done all the things he should’ve done earlier in the day, and descended the stairs dramatically to greet the group more or less patiently waiting for him.

Henry Fogg stood with them, sipping wine and watching Eliot with hawk-like intensity that made Eliot’s skin crawl. “Well, now we’re all here, let’s head out.” He couldn’t sound more unimpressed if he tried.

Everyone was a critic.

Quentin counted the number of people and then said, “Let’s take the sleigh!”

Henry gave Quentin a look that was less than enthusiastic. At least, that’s what Eliot thought, but then he often looked less than enthusiastic, so it was hard to say.

“A sleigh?” Poppy jumped and clapped her hands before she went for her coat.

“Q, that big gaudy thing? Don’t you think it’s too much?” Julia complained. She was already in her coat and looked up at Kady, who really had no idea.

“Gaudy? I’m in.” Margo put one arm in Quentin’s and the other in Eliot’s, unilaterally claiming them both, which was great until Poppy slipped in on Quentin’s other side.

“Yeah, I can make it big enough for all of us. Jules, I might need some help powering it up for this many people.”

Quentin had also changed, as he was apparently not interested in wearing a disco suit to the night carnival. He was back in casual festive with black jeans and a red and gold Christmas sweater with a shiny sequin disco ball on the front.

_Dork._

But adorable.

He covered it with a giant black coat and pulled up the hood before tutting and bringing the light-up reindeer into formation. With a gesture, the sled for two expanded and widened into four spots in two rows, likely reflecting Quentin’s desire not to be sat in a strict couple seat with Poppy.

Julia joined him, and they did a synchronized spell that made the reindeer and the sleigh glow just a little brighter. “Should be enough horse—er… reindeer power for us.”

Eliot beamed at Quentin and Julia. “Excellent use of cooperative magic, Fogg sprogs.” He climbed into the front row of the sleigh and extended his hand to help Margo in, grinning past her at Quentin. “I was looking forward to an excuse to do this again.”

Kady handed Julia into the back row and joined her as Dean Fogg walked around to sit on Julia’s other side. They seemed close like that.

“The nice thing is, we don’t have to find parking,” said Quentin before he started a series of tuts, apparently to direct them to town. “Bet they’d even let us pull into the middle of the square so people can see it!”

“Is that safe?” Julia asked from behind them as the sled lurched forward.

“They’ll be chained together; I don’t see how it could go wrong.” Quentin grinned, and Eliot knew for certain that Quentin had thought of the many ways it could go wrong and, in fact, wanted it to.

Those odd moments of chaos in Quentin were probably what Poppy loved about him, if she really did love him. Her eyes sparkled with mischief at the prospect, and then she transferred herself to Quentin’s lap. “This is so romantic, Quinny. I love it.”

Margo let out a loud groan and rolled her eyes dramatically before clambering onto Eliot’s lap. In a high-pitched mocking voice, she cuddled up to Eliot and said, “Oh yes, _so_ romantic, Ellie.”

Eliot snuggled Margo facetiously, putting on a show of his hand on her thigh and his nose in her piled-high hair. “Oh Margie, you’re the bee’s knees.” He peeked past Margo at Quentin and grinned at him, hoping Quentin would grasp they were making fun of Poppy, not him.

Then Kady hit him in the back of the head, and Eliot gasped and turned on her in betrayal. “What is your malfunction?”

Kady cut her gaze at Quentin and raised her brows, but Eliot couldn’t interpret that look. He frankly didn’t spend that much time with Kady. Who knew what she was trying to indicate?

Quentin’s gaze moved from Margo’s thigh forward, and then he lightly rested his hand on Poppy’s thigh. Poppy pressed his hand against it and pushed it up, and Quentin’s eyes widened as he pulled his hand away to cast another spell that increased their speed.

Poppy looked momentarily irritated but then shrugged it off as she made herself more comfortable in Quentin’s lap. “We can get some hot chocolate, do more dancing, and the shops will be open. And the fire eaters and sword swallowers! I want to go on the Ferris wheel, don’t you?”

“Yeah, we can do all the rides if you want to.” Quentin smiled. “I want some caramel corn and Wassail.”

“Sausage on a stick,” Poppy added, waggling her brows.

“Or turkey legs.” Quentin replied, either missing her innuendo or ignoring it.

Margo snuggled in against Eliot and whispered, “What kind of family state fair bullshit did you get me involved in?” She grinned, though, and Eliot knew she found the whole thing worth it. “I hope there’s deep-fried butter.”

“I honestly have no idea, Bambi. I’m just a poor, lost city boy at the festive whims of the locals.” Eliot returned her grin and then pinched her ass playfully. “Q, do they have deep-fried butter? Margie wants deep-fried butter.”

Dean Fogg sighed voluminously in the back seat.

“I’m sure they could make it if they don’t.” Quentin appeared to have no idea he was being made fun of, which was probably for the best. “I’ll hurry it up, Dad. I know there are a lot of lovely ladies awaiting your arrival.”

Quentin looked over his shoulder and grinned at Fogg. “Most eligible bachelor in Fillory, thirty years running.”

“Yes, he is,” Poppy said, now straddling Quentin so she could look over him at Fogg, though more probably so she could put her assets in Q’s face. “Are you going to sing for us again, Henry?”

“Would you kids enjoy a spot of caroling as we dash through the snow?” Fogg asked, sounding pleased. “It _is_ nice to find oneself appreciated.”

Kady immediately began humming _God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen_ , and Eliot thumped his hand on Margo’s thigh for percussion. Fogg laughed but took his cue and began belting it with a surprisingly mellow, pleasant tone. _“God rest ye merry, gentlemen. Let nothing you dismay. Remember Christ the Savior was born on Christmas day to save us all from Satan’s pow’r when we were gone astray… O tidings of comfort and joy—”_

 _“Comfort and joy!”_ Eliot and Kady sang, backing him up.

_“O tidings of comfort and joy…”_

Fogg continued singing, and Eliot cuddled Margo with the closest he’d felt in a while to relaxation. Sure Poppy was putting the moves on Q—and certainly her perky breasts shoved directly in hapless Q’s sweet little face were an obstacle to Eliot’s long-term objectives—but no way would Margo let Poppy steal Quentin out from under Eliot.

“Poppy, you’re a better door than a window. Quentin’s gotta steer this ship.” Margo pushed Poppy back with a swift shift of a perfect stiletto.

Poppy looked annoyed but clearly in control until a look crossed her face, and she pretended to fall back more dramatically than Margo could possibly have pushed her.

Quentin abandoned his spellwork to catch her. She grabbed at him melodramatically, pulling him down as she fell back onto the bench seat so that he was forced atop her.

Behind them, Julia stood up and apparently took control of the sleigh. She’d been so quiet, Eliot almost forgot she was back there. With the speed at which she took up the cause, it seemed like she half expected to need to jump in.

“I’ve got it, Q. You all right, Poppy?”

Julia shot Margo a look which Margo shot right back. “Oh, come _on._ ”

“I’m all right,” Poppy said from under Quentin. “Perfect, in fact.”

Eliot couldn’t see Quentin’s face but could tell he was probably blushing. “Um, I should probably… steer.”

“Julia’s got it.” Poppy said as she ran her hands through his hair. Eliot stifled a possessive growl.

Seeming to sense Eliot’s distress, Margo stood, grabbed Quentin by the back of his coat, and pulled him off. “We’re almost there. Dry hump in private.”

“I wasn’t!” Quentin turned to speak to Margo, but instead, he fell on _her_ across Eliot’s lap.

Christmas came early.

Eliot snuggled them both and dragged them closer so he could press little kisses on both their temples.

“Ah, this is even better,” he observed, not bothering to hide his delight.

Fogg carried on singing like he couldn’t begin to deal with their bullshit. Kady sighed audibly.

“Oh, Q, is that a flashlight in your pocket?” Margo said, beaming.

“Why would I have a flashlight in my pocket?”

“Okay, I see why you like him, El.” Margo grinned deviously at them both before she set to arranging his hair back into place.

Eliot laughed and let out a long, blissful exhalation, feeling warm to his bones with his two favorite people in the entire world cuddled up on his lap. He didn’t expect Poppy to take it lying down, though, and he sneaked a glance at her over the top of Quentin’s head.

Then Fogg’s voice boomed, “ _O tidings of comfort and joy,”_ and Eliot lifted his voice with Kady’s to sing, “ _Comfort and joy!”_ Finally, closing out the song, Fogg echoed, “ _O tidings of comfort and joy…”_ And he hit a low note that deeply impressed Eliot and caused him to turn his head all the way to look at Fogg with raised brow and give him a respectful nod.

Fogg accepted it as his due, but Kady grinned at Eliot, obviously proud of her soon-to-be father-in-law. It still freaked Eliot out the tiniest bit to imagine Fogg as _his_ soon-to-be father-in-law, so he just refused to acknowledge that eventuality. He’d adjust. Someday.

Hopefully soon enough that Quentin didn’t marry Poppy instead.

Poppy applauded from her seat and put her hand on Quentin’s shoulder. “Come on, sit with me. I’m cold.”

“Yeah, um, we’re almost there.” Quentin gave Eliot a return kiss on the temple and kissed Margo’s hand. “Thanks for the temporary ride.”

Margo laughed as Quentin resumed his spot, and she stretched out over Eliot’s lap. “Okay, he’s pretty cute. I admit it.”

The town had long been a faraway glow, but now the multitude of lights clarified and illuminated the small collection of cordoned downtown streets, their two- and three-story buildings all strung with decorations. Cars were parked along the roadside and in a paved lot.

Magicians dressed like elves waved them through past the cars, but when it came time to turn into the parking lot, a woman came up. “This is wonderful! You want to park this inside?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s fine as long as no one lets them loose. They’re kinda…” Quentin trailed off as he put on a soft knitted cap.

“Sentient?” The woman looked at the reindeer with a bit more wariness, then held out her hands toward them. “I think it’ll be all right. Lots of master magicians inside. Who’s that?”

She pointed behind Quentin, and he followed her gaze to the back of the sleigh.

“Henry Fogg, my dad?”

She laughed. “No, that little…”

Quentin stood, as did Eliot, Margo, and Poppy. Behind them, Quentin’s electric light-up lamb was following on unsteady legs.

“Oh no! How’d you get past the governor, Baa-baa?” Quentin slipped past Poppy and ran to pick up his lost little lamb.

“Baa,” it said, which would’ve been cute if it wasn’t so synthetic sounding.

Quentin got back onto the sleigh, holding the lamb on his lap. “He was part of the Nativity.”

The woman looked grave and nodded. “Oh right. The Nativity. But he’s…”

“Harmless.”

Apparently, that was something of a Fillorian urban legend, which made it hard not to laugh.

Margo looked at Eliot with questions in her eyes, but then they were moving again, driving into the middle of streets bedecked with carolers, dancers, fire eaters, sword swallowers, and people shouting out their wares, food and otherwise.

“Baa-baa?” Eliot asked, giving Quentin a little smile. “As in ‘Baa-baa, black sheep, have you any wool?’”

Behind them, Fogg sighed again, but he sounded fond. “Quentin has always liked his little in-jokes. He’s a bit of a nerd that way.” 

Kady laughed as she snuggled up to Julia and whispered, “But not this one. She’s not a nerd at all. I’m sure Quentin’s just a fluke and it has _nothing_ to do with how they were raised. _Henry._ ”

A snappy response was on the tip of Eliot’s tongue, but then he saw the _enchanted_ mulled wine and his brain shorted out. “Bambi,” he whispered, pointing. “Look.”

Fogg snorted. “I don’t care what a heavyweight you think you are, Eliot Waugh. Two cups of that is enough to lay out a wino rhino, and trust me, we had one of those a few years back. If you must sample it, do so in moderation.”

That just excited Eliot even more. “While I would love to hear about your wino rhino—which…what?—you have now presented me with a drinking challenge, which is my favorite kind of challenge. I must immediately apply myself to this feat.”

He looked to Julia and signaled for her to stop and let him off. As she halted in the center of the bustling street, Eliot looked to Margo and Quentin. “Who’s with me?”

“Me!” Poppy all but threw herself at Eliot, apparently assessing that the package deal thing was fairly serious, or she just really wanted wine, which was understandable.

“Yeah, I want some.” Quentin seemed preoccupied by his little lamb, crouching by it and apparently checking enchantments.

Margo stood behind him, eyes narrowed on the sheep briefly before she cast a quick, furtive spell.

It gave another call, and its little tail waggled. Quentin looked up and around, and they spotted a little cart with pet accoutrements where Quentin bought a leash and collar and secured his sheep.

Julia and Kady had immediately taken off toward the hot chocolate, and Henry was greeted like a hero by a circle of ladies of a certain age. It seemed like everyone had somewhere to be, except Poppy, who was trying to be in Eliot’s arms but honestly needed to be, like, anywhere else.

He gave her a little squeeze, spun her around, and smacked her rump to get her started in the direction of the wine. Then, freed, he reached for Margo and Quentin, trying to drag them under his arms so he could snuggle them on the way to the wine. It was sort of a mean girl move getting Poppy out of the way, but Margo had always brought out his inner Regina George.

“So, was I the only one who felt that Fogg explicitly demanded we drink multiple cups of the enchanted mulled wine?” Eliot asked before turning his attention on Quentin and asking, “And what, pray tell, is it enchanted to do?”

“You remember the hot chocolate. We should probably pace ourselves.” Quentin walked along under Eliot’s arm, seeming quite at ease.

“Oh, that sounds like a fun story, but I have to ask, Q, what is up with the electric sheep?” Margo looked past Eliot to Quentin, who beamed at her.

“It’s what androids dream of.”

Margo paused and then cackled.

Poppy turned around, saw them all cuddled together, and frowned. She moved to Quentin’s other side to join the team. “What’s so funny?”

Margo smirked. “Quentin just made a Dick joke.”

“A Philip K. Dick joke, but yes.” Quentin seemed quite pleased someone got his dorky joke.

“I forgot what it’s like being around the two of you together,” Eliot faux-lamented, squeezing both closer as they joined the back of the line for the enchanted mulled wine. “So much sex appeal, until you start geeking out, and then I’m so confused my dick just goes soft.”

“You’re always welcome to read a book, El. Would think you’d be more interested in them now you’re making them, or do you only read books with pictures?” Margo squeezed Eliot back and kissed his cheek as if to soften the age-old refrain.

Poppy smiled but seemed to be trying to peel Quentin off. “Can’t have your dick going soft. You know, we could go get in a food line and order what you guys want, and we can all meet up at the tables.”

“Oh, yeah, we can do that.” Quentin looked at Eliot and Margo. “What do you guys want to eat?”

“I’d like a truly monstrous turkey leg, just massive,” Eliot answered, narrowing his gaze on Q. “I want one so big you don’t think I can take it, and then I’m going to devour it like a greedy, greedy carnivore.” Eliot raised a brow. “You know how I feel about meat, Quentin.” He looked to Poppy and feigned sweetness. “Poppy understands. She’s hungry for sausage on a stick.”

Then he grinned at Margo and kissed her hair, breathing her in. He felt almost like his old self around her, giddy and wicked and gleeful. Sharper, too. Around Quentin, his rough edges had been softened, like the petty part of him had gone into hibernation, but now…

Well.

He couldn’t help feeling like Poppy deserved what she got, too. Lying. Claiming credit for _Eliot’s_ romantic gesture.

Margo fake whispered, “That’s Eliot’s version of a dick joke. But it’s not a joke; he’s just that big.”

Quentin paled and then blushed, averting his gaze. “Um, okay, so really big turkey leg.”

“I think you scared the boy,” Margo whispered to Eliot, then, louder, “Yeah, I guess bring me a turkey leg.”

Poppy successfully pried Quentin away from Eliot’s grasp, apparently ignoring his joke. “Okay, we’ll get in the turkey line. Come on, Quinny.”

She put his arm around her, and he sighed, seeming to resign himself to it. They disappeared into the crowd.

“So we’re not telling him she’s not his true love because why?” Margo asked.

Eliot groaned and sincerely wished he already had some enchanted mulled wine in his hand. Why was the line moving so slowly? Why didn’t the universe want him to be happy? Or, barring that, inebriated?

“Because if I tell him it’s not Poppy, he’s going to know it’s _me,_ ” Eliot explained, giving her a frustrated look. “I’m not _ready_ for him to know it’s me. This is a whole romantic grand gesture meant to sweep him off his feet, and it’s not working like I planned _at all_ because Poppy just _lies like a dirty, raggedy rug_.”

Sighing, Eliot added, “I’m pacing myself. I have made some _very intense_ implications with my gifting, as you are no doubt aware, and I need to work myself up to acknowledging those implications personally.”

“This is going to end in tears. Watching him put up with Poppy’s pawing at him hurts my heart, and I don’t even like him that much.”

That wasn’t true, and they both knew it. Margo loved Quentin even if she enjoyed giving him a hard time. They got to the front and ordered four cups of mulled wine.

Each took two, and they headed toward the table area where Poppy and Quentin were already sitting, turkey legs still steaming.

Poppy had her arm around Quentin and was telling him a story that made him laugh. Not a fake laugh, but a real one. She put her forehead to his and curled her finger under his chin. She pulled back enough to gaze into his eyes and tilted her head, moving in on him. Eliot poured on the speed, his long legs carrying him to the table in a bare moment.

“Hey,” Eliot said as he plunked the wine cups down on the table, loud and sudden to startle Quentin out of it. He pulled out a chair for Margo and gave her a dour look, his self-control wearing thin.

“Hey!” Quentin jumped as if he’d been hypnotized, which seemed to be his habit when dating. It was endearing when Quentin looked at Eliot that way, less cute when it was someone else.

There was one truly outstandingly large turkey leg that Quentin pushed toward Eliot. “I think this may have been an emu leg or something. I told him that you liked big meat, and so this is what he came up with.”

Poppy giggled and rubbed her hand up and down Quentin’s back. “That’s the kind of dick joke I’m looking for.”

Quentin blushed slightly as she leaned in and nuzzled the side of his face.

Margo looked like she wanted nothing more than to leap across the table and throttle Poppy, but she sank into her seat and took the smallest turkey leg. Then she turned and grabbed Eliot’s massive one. “Need help with your meat?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time you provided that service,” Eliot teased quietly, looking into Margo’s eyes and crinkling his own affectionately. He knocked his knee against hers and offered her the first bite.

Quentin looked between them and seemed to deflate a little. Then he turned to continue talking to Poppy, drinking the mulled wine generously while he picked at his turkey.

Baa-baa jumped into Quentin’s lap, and he cuddled it as they caught up, which was mostly Quentin listening and nodding.

Margo leaned in to whisper to Eliot, “Babe, there’s playing it cool, and then there’s throwing him to the wolves.”

Ugh. Eliot didn’t want to deal with feelings right now.

He sipped his wine, which was warm and spicy and comforting, and then tore into the turkey leg with a vengeance to avoid talking. After he chewed and swallowed, he reached over to rest his hand on Quentin’s arm. “Q. Hey.”

“Hey.” Quentin turned immediately and smiled at Eliot.

Then Julia appeared and dropped into the seat between Quentin and Eliot. “Hey, guys.”

She and Kady had mugs of cocoa and came bearing Christmas cookies, but Eliot still kind of wanted to stab Julia. He’d had the perfect words for once, and—

Julia turned to Margo and beamed. “Hey, Margo, I know you didn’t RSVP—maybe you didn’t know you’d be in town—but our friend Janet just canceled. I was thinking maybe you could come in her place? You could be Eliot’s plus one, and Poppy could go with Quentin. You know, because of the presents and everything.”

She paused and then added, “Then you don’t have to come to the rehearsal dinner, Eliot.”

“Um.” Quentin looked at Julia and then at Eliot, brow furrowed.

Eliot felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. He looked between Julia and Quentin, bewildered and trying desperately not to look it.

Was there enough oxygen here? It didn’t feel like there was enough oxygen.

“Won’t that disrupt your seating chart?” Eliot blurted, grasping at straws. He flicked his gaze to Kady, hoping she’d come to his rescue, but she just gave him a pointed look.

“Yeah, Jules, I mean, it’s in a couple of days.” Quentin dove in, but the look Julia gave him made him shut his mouth quickly.

“We already altered it so you could sit next to your true love, Q. This way we can put Eliot with Margo, and he’ll have someone to talk to.”

“I’m not sitting at some shitty table in the back,” Margo snapped quickly.

“You’re not family,” Julia shot back.

“Eliot is,” Quentin said, looking a little panicked. “At the least, he should be at my table.”

Margo grabbed Eliot’s hand under the table and gave it a squeeze. She probably didn’t RSVP because she didn’t want to go to the wedding because Margo found them boring, but she held Eliot’s hand, and it was clear she would go with him in solidarity no matter what.

“Quentin…” Julia shook her head and then rolled her eyes. “There is only so much room at the front table. And they’re not part of the wedding party.”

“No, I’m… I’m no one important, I know, but Quentin should be sitting at the head table with you, Julia.” It cost Eliot to say that, but he couldn’t stand the idea of getting Quentin relegated to a second-tier table just because he didn’t want to leave Eliot in the lurch. “He’s your twin, and this is… You know how Quentin is about sappy stuff. If he’s not sitting next to you when the waterworks start, he’s going to be inconsolable.”

Kady was determinedly trying to catch Eliot’s gaze, but he refused to look over.

“ _Eliot_.” Quentin sounded pained, but he couldn’t seem to come up with anything else to say to that because it was true.

“Quentin,” Julia said as she took his hand. “I know things are changing and that scares you.”

Poppy wrapped her arms around Quentin and set her head on his shoulder, peeking at Julia. “I’ll take good care of you, Quinny. I’m your true love. It’ll be so good. I promise.”

“I promised no rash decisions.”

“I know you did, Q.” Julia squeezed his hand and nodded. “That’s why I’m doing this for you.”

“That’s bullshit.” Margo stood, her dark eyes filled with rage. “He’s a grown-ass man, and you’re assigning a seat for him?”

“Well, it’s a wedding,” Quentin said, which pleased absolutely no one, as the whole table glared at him.

“I’m just saying it’s a sit-down dinner and seats are assigned,” he mumbled almost to himself.

Eliot stood too, his hand on Margo’s arm. He leaned over to whisper in her ear, “It’s okay, Bambi.”

Then he turned his gaze on Quentin, who looked overwhelmed and was wearing Poppy like a second sweater. Wine held at the ready, just in case, Eliot asked him, “Do you want to take Poppy as your date?”

It felt like it would mean something if Q really came out and said he’d rather go with Poppy. If he committed to that. If he changed his mind that way when he dragged Eliot all the way from the city to Fillory for two weeks.

After all, true love went both ways. Whoever Quentin thought was giving him the gifts, all he knew was that person claimed to be his true love. It was up to Quentin to decide whether he believed it.

Quentin looked like a deer caught in the headlights. His eyes were wide and utterly terrified. He mouthed words as he looked up at Eliot and then to Julia and back again.

“Of course he does,” Poppy said, breaking the tense silence. “We’re meant to be. High school sweethearts!”

“You weren’t in high school,” Quentin said, his voice a little breathless. “Statutorily that was on pretty shaky ground.”

Poppy laughed and rolled her eyes. “You’re so funny sometimes. I’m your true love. Julia’s already done the seats. It’s not like you have to stop working together.”

Quentin’s face clouded over, and he looked down at the table and shrugged. “I guess.”

“Okay, well, this is a family thing, and we—” Eliot gestured to Margo and reached out to slip his arm around her waist. “We are not really part of this, so I’m just going to bow out gracefully. Enjoy your carnival. I’ll see you all at the wedding.”

Eliot knocked back the rest of his wine—and wow, that _did_ have a kick—and then tossed the cup at the trash barrel, sinking a two-pointer his high school self would’ve envied, before picking up his massive turkey leg and tugging at Margo to indicate it was time to exit stage right.

“Eliot, wait!” Quentin practically wailed, but then Eliot heard Poppy and Julia talking excitedly, probably convincing him that this was for the best, that he shouldn’t follow, and really, Eliot didn’t want to be followed.

“That was the biggest cock up I’ve ever witnessed, Eliot.” Margo sounded annoyed, but she didn’t stop him. She kept walking, faithful to the bitter end, whatever end that might be. She pulled out her phone. “They have Lyft here?”

“No Muggles allowed, but maybe there’s magicians doing ride share?” Eliot honestly didn’t know. The mood he was in, he’d just _walk_. He needed to blow off steam. “We’re downtown already. There’s gotta be a cute little boutique hotel around here nearby.”

What kind of hotel would a magical enclave have, anyway? Probably killer amenities. What had been so great about staying with the Foggs anyway? They’d made Eliot cook for himself! He’d been _making his own bed_. It wasn’t like the Fogg cabin came with concierge service.

“Practically slumming it,” he muttered. “This can only be an improvement.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess… my hotel should be around here.” Margo switched over to the map app where she’d marked her hotel. It was only a few blocks away. She started them in that direction. “You know that wasn’t fair, right?”

Margo still had her wine and was sipping it along the way, which seemed like a much better plan now that they were walking so briskly and the cold started to get to him.

“What wasn’t fair? That Julia just decided _for_ him that he’s taking Poppy as his date to the wedding? That Julia just _decided_ that we’re going together and sitting at table 19?” Eliot let himself seethe, which did help keep him warm. “I’ll tell you what’s really not fair… Kady fucking _knows_ I’m the one sending the gifts, and she let her little wifey pull this stunt anyway!”

“Yeah, I’m sure it’s Kady’s fault you two have been dicking around for seven years. It’s all on Kady that she isn’t breaking her contract to tell Julia something you wouldn’t tell her yourself. It’s her _wedding_ , Eliot. And she _doesn’t know._ And further Quentin _doesn’t know_.” She turned a corner, and there was a beautiful Victorian looking building, decorated for Christmas, including paint—probably a charm.

Margo led Eliot up the steps to the broad porch and stained-glass door. “You put him in the position to choose between you and his _twin_ without even the fucking knowledge that you’ve been sending him the gifts. And he was _still_ trying to fight to keep you at his table, El. Then you just bigfooted the whole situation with an ultimatum. I’m starting to think you _want_ to sabotage yourself.”

They walked through the lobby, which was intensely warm. There was a huge tree and a gorgeous staircase, and Eliot followed Margo up and around the hall to her room, which opened just with her touch. “I can’t believe I came all the way out here to watch you snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.”

Through all of that, Eliot stayed quiet, shocked that Margo was _attacking him_ because _honestly_ , but maybe she had a point. Several points.

Eliot stalked over to the bed and started undressing. It was too warm in here. Probably because her room had an actual fireplace. Which… Impressive, but either Eliot was sweating out of a sense of intense guilt, regret, and self-loathing, or it was just toasty in here, and he refused to believe it was the former.

“Look, I haven’t had you in my life much lately, and now you’re here, and you’re just…reading me for filth. This is not the kind of tender, even loverlike treatment I have come to expect from you. If you’re going to make me cry, at least tell me I can raid the minibar first.” Eliot tossed his suit over the bedside chair and turned to look at Margo with sad eyes and a faint smirk.

“Have at the minibar, El. You want me to be the friend that tells you that yeah, yeah, everything sucks and those ladies are bitches, I can do that, but that’s not really being your friend, is it?” Margo undressed and then pulled on a rather pretty but light nightgown. “But what I see is that go time is coming, and you’re suddenly looking for a way out. Why else would you let Poppy take credit? So what do we do? Should I stop the presents?”

“No!” Eliot protested, a pure, gut-level reaction. He huffed and pulled all the scotch from the minibar, analyzing it and choosing which bottles he was willing to drink. He arranged them in order from most palatable to least and then put the unacceptable choices back in the fridge.

He quaffed the tastiest sample and then chucked the bottle at the waste bin vengefully. It ricocheted off the side and bounced back at his feet, which just made him feel like an epic fuckup. Sighing, he bent down to pick it up and then began picking at the label with his fingernail while he brooded.

“Look,” he finally began, after a long, pregnant silence. “I know this is on me. I didn’t really think this through. It was an impulsive—”

Eliot cut himself off and averted his gaze when Margo tried to look him in the eye. “I didn’t stop and weigh how this was going to impact things. I just knew when Penny dumped Quentin that if I didn’t make a move, I was never _going_ to make a move. So I dove in headfirst without being certain I could swim first.”

Margo sat on the bed and patted the spot next to her. “Bring me the cognac.”

She curled up next to him once he’d gotten into the bed, bringing with him all the palatable liquor. She didn’t seem to care he wasn’t wearing anything. Why would she? She’d seen everything. She didn’t even seem to mind his panic sweat. Margo was a real ride or die.

“Do you really _want_ to make a move, El? It’s okay if you don’t. Maybe it’s just a crush and not something you really want. You can walk back the marriage talk if you’re freaking out.”

Eliot wrapped his arm around Margo’s shoulders and tucked his chin atop her head. Like Quentin, she fit perfectly there. He stared into space as he weighed the question. “I’m honestly not drunk enough yet to talk about this, Bambi, but I will say this… When I realized Quentin was for realsies queer and not just like…teasing me…”

Eliot shook his head, sober enough to be ashamed of himself. “When he was dating Penny, all I could think was how _wrong_ it was. How I should’ve been the one he was dating if he was going to do the out-and-proud disaster bi post-grad victory lap. And at first, I didn’t really think… I was sure he’d realize it wasn’t really for him, and he’d _poof_ back into the closet and never come out again, put that phase behind him, and I was _gutted_ he didn’t pick me for his little experiment, but we _were_ working together, and I rationalized that he didn’t want to complicate things.”

He knew he was rambling, but he couldn’t shut up. As Margo sipped her cognac, Eliot waded into the next bottle of scotch. “Quentin kept talking about the sex though. Just…all the time. I had to tell him to chill because it was just too much, and I was so jealous, Margo. I was jealous. Of _Penny Adiyodi._ What?”

Sighing, he admitted, “Then I realized Quentin was just, you know, queer. A different number on the Kinsey scale than myself, but queer. And I’d wasted all these years pursuing other people thinking Quentin wasn’t ever going to be interested, that he _couldn’t_ be interested. Then suddenly it’s a whole new world, and I’ve gotta do something because…”

Miserable, Eliot hugged Margo tighter and whispered, “He really is my true love. He just is. And he’s always wanted the big romantic everything. The soulmates and the rings and the wedding bells. And he deserves it. It’s not me, but _he’s_ me. He’s everything I ever wanted. Do you have any idea how scary that is?”

“I don’t have any idea how scary that is. I wish I did, El. I really do.” She finished off the small bottle of cognac and moved on to a lesser brandy. “Did you ever ask yourself what he was really trying to say? That maybe all of what you thought were jokes about him being bi were because he wanted you to know that he was available? That by dating others, he thought you weren’t interested? That maybe he thought Penny was what he could get if he couldn’t get you?

“Because Eliot, I’m not a psychic, that’s not my thing, but the way that man looks at you… Do you see how he looks at Poppy? There’s no comparison, Eliot. He’s in love with you. How’d he take the break-up with Penny?”

“What?” Eliot stared at Margo in blank incomprehension, trying to process that information. “That doesn’t make any sense. I’ve been flirting with him since I met him. In what world did he not know he could get me? I made my interest _embarrassingly_ clear.”

“You flirt with everyone. That’s not a judgement; I do it too. And look at us… We’re best friends, hands all over each other, kissing. How’s he supposed to know that’s not just how you are with friends? I don’t think you’re as clear as you think you are.” She turned and leaned in to press a kiss to his lips as if that would soften the blow. “Don’t get me wrong, I love the grand gesture, but even tonight… You could’ve just told him. You cock out at the last minute. Which isn’t to say that Q isn’t full of his own dumbassery, but I don’t love him as much as I love you, so you get to hear my wisdom.”

“I love you too,” Eliot responded, helpless. He gazed into Margo’s big, dark eyes and fervently hoped she was right. After a beat, he asked, “Do you think it’ll be enough? The letter? I know you haven’t read it—it was sealed—but… If he did ever…have those feelings toward me…”

Eliot sighed, twisted up inside and turned around backward. The mulled wine chased by several scotches had left his head fuzzy. “What do I do now? I’m not the bravest boy, Bambi. You know this. This _was_ me being brave.”

“Do you want the honest, no bullshit truth, El?” Margo stared at him and toyed with his curls. “I think if you just kissed him, really kissed him. If you just said the word, the honest truth to him, he would be on you so fast. Provided he hasn’t gone to Vegas for a quickie marriage to Poppy.”

“Oh god.” Eliot’s guts churned. “He promised not to make any rash decisions. What if he… Do you think he _would?_ ”

As for the rest, he wasn’t as sure as Margo seemed to be. She was definitively biased in Eliot’s favor. She’d always thought he was such a catch, and while he acknowledged he was a blessing to one-nighters and brief flings, he doubted he was nearly as worthwhile in a long-term scenario. Mostly because he had no experience at long-term scenarios. Or _interest_ in long-term scenarios.

But _Quentin_ was something completely other. Part of Eliot. Wedged so deep in his heart there was no going back.

“I think if you don’t ovary up by the time the wedding comes around, you’re going to be in trouble. He wouldn’t steal the thunder from Julia like that. Unless Julia ordered him to do it, and then I don’t know.” Something seemed to possess Margo in that second, and she smacked his arm. “He was trying to stand up for you!”

Then she let out a sigh and flopped back against the bed. “I should never have left you alone.”

“I’m a fucking mess. I know. I’m aware. I’m—” Eliot felt himself start a Quentinesque spiral and reached for some more scotch. He downed it and then looked resolutely at Margo. “I’m going to call him. Just…call. Just…to let him know where I am. He worries. He doesn’t deserve to worry. He won’t sleep if he thinks I’m avoiding him.”

Despite his determination, he waited for Margo to give him some kind of confirmation that was a good decision. The drunker he got, the more he depended on her, historically speaking. No wonder he’d been such a sadsack without her.

“I think that’s a good start. He’ll be less desperate, which will be good for keeping him out of Poppy’s clutches. Plus, he can bring you your things, and we’ll trap him.” Margo said, her hands up like a cat’s paws, as if she was going to pounce.

“Okay. Showtime.” Eliot slipped from the bed and its small pile of tiny emptied bottles to retrieve his phone from his suit pocket. He wandered over to the couch in front of the room’s fireplace and sank down as he rang Quentin’s number.

Q answered after a couple rings. The sounds in the background indicated he was still at the carnival. That made sense; he was in charge of transportation, so he couldn’t just ditch everyone, probably.

“El? El, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Q. I’m okay.” Eliot was aware his words were a little too soft around the edges, blurred with drink. “I’m just hanging with Margo until after the wedding. Julia doesn’t want me shacking up with you, and this is… This is her big day, so I’m just gonna make myself cooperatively scarce. But I’m okay. Okay? Just…don’t run off to Vegas with Poppy. I will literally vomit if you do that.”

Eliot glanced to Margo, seeking approval or encouragement, and tried to breathe deep. Quentin eloping with Poppy was not the only circumstance under which vomit might happen.

Margo gave him a nod.

“Vegas?” Quentin sounded mystified. “Hey, you don’t have to go. She said she didn’t mean to throw you out.” Baa-baa made himself heard by screeching “Baa!” and there was some shifting around. “Shit! Um… where are you? Whitespire?”

“Is that the super festive Victorian-looking hotel downtown with the really nice suites with fireplaces in them and _so much_ scotch in the minibar? Because if so, yes.” Eliot rubbed his temple with his free hand and blurted, “Just promise you won’t go to Vegas with Poppy and elope without me, okay? I insist on being part of any Quentin elopements.”

“I mean, yeah, I guess at Christmas it looks like a Victorian gingerbread house, but it’s a white castle otherwise. I’m, um, not eloping.”

In the background Poppy squealed. “Oh my god, Quinny, are you proposing?”

“No!” Quentin sounded more than a little agitated. “I just said I’m _not_ eloping.”

“You’d better not, asshole. My wedding is in _two days._ Who are you talking to?” Julia also sounded irritated.

“Eliot.”

“Oh, good. Ask him if he’s still coming and bringing Margo, or I’ll have to change the seating again.”

Quentin sighed and spoke into the phone. “What Julia is trying to say is that she’d like you to be at the wedding.”

“I’ll be there. Me and Margo. As instructed. Tell Jules not to worry. I won’t fuck anything up for her.” Eliot frowned at the bitterness in his tone and tried again. “I’m just going to stay out of the way until then. I know it’s…stressful for her. Big plans afoot. Um.”

Eliot considered his options, albeit with a fuzzy-headed vagueness he couldn’t shake, and finally said, “I left all my stuff at your dad’s house. If you’re not eloping, maybe you can bring my clothes to me before the wedding? If you have time. Whenever.”

How pitiful did that sound?

“Yeah. Yeah, sure, El. I mean, you… Yeah. Okay.” Quentin sounded a little lost and very sad. “I think we’re going to be here for a while tonight. Um, I’ll figure something out.”

“Quinny! Come _on._ I wanna get on the Ferris wheel!”

“I should probably go. I’ll um, yeah. Figure something out. Stay safe.”

“You too, Q.” Eliot smiled faintly, melancholy, and added, “Keep it in your pants.”

Quentin let out a huffing laugh. “You think I’d do something like that? In front of Baa-baa?”

“I think you could be persuaded,” Eliot murmured, the scotch running away with his tongue. “By the right guy.”

“On the Ferris wheel?” Quentin sounded amused and a little breathless. “Too bad there’s no guys here to test that theory with.”

“Jules chases them off,” Eliot lamented, sighing. Then, he said in a drunken rush, “I like her, though. She just doesn’t know everything. She thinks she knows, but it’s not her fault she doesn’t. She’s used to knowing. She just doesn’t know _me_. But you do, Q. You should know me by now.”

“I’ll save a ticket for you, then.” Before Eliot could question what that meant, the line went dead.

Was that flirting? It sure felt like flirting.

Eliot turned his attention on Margo then, heart thundering. “Bambi, I think Q just flirted with me.”

“Yeah? You just now noticed?” Margo laughed and came over to hug him. “What did he say?”

“I told him to keep it in his pants. He said he wouldn’t on the Ferris wheel in front of Baa-baa. I said he would if the right guy came along, and he said he’d save me a ticket.” It came out jumbled probably, and Eliot’s skin felt like it was on fire—or maybe that was the fireplace so close on his naked body, but probably not—and he felt like he was flying, just a little.

He searched Margo’s face. “That’s flirting, right? Please, fuck, tell me that’s flirting.”

“He’s going to take his dick out in front of Baa-baa?” Margo made a horrified face. “On the Ferris wheel? Not to kink shame, El, but…what the fuck?”

“No, no. Well. Yes, but not with Poppy. With _me_. It was implied he would do it for _me_.” Eliot beamed. “Isn’t that what you wanted for me? He _flirted_.”

Margo still looked at him as if he was loony. “Okay. I mean, I guess that’s a move in the right direction. I don’t usually like to invite livestock into the equation, but good for you.”

“Thanks!” Eliot leaned in to kiss the corner of her mouth and then flopped on the couch, dragging Margo down with him for a snuggle.

“So that’s it? You’re not going to go claim your ride?” Margo snuggled with him and mussed his hair playfully.

“What? Now?” Eliot opened his eyes wide as it occurred to him that he could, in fact, get dressed and storm the Ferris wheel. He thought about it with the drunken optimism of the moment, envisioning sweeping Q off his feet and…

And what?

Quentin wasn’t going to throw over Poppy for a Ferris wheel blowjob. Not without talking about feelings.

Could Eliot do that?

Could Eliot do that _right now?_

What if he read too much into it? What if Quentin didn’t mean it like that?

It wasn’t like Eliot _deserved_ that from Quentin.

Paralyzed in a self-loathing doubt spiral, Eliot made a soft wounded sound and curled around Margo.

Margo snorted and squeezed Eliot tight. “Apparently not.” She kissed the top of his head and then fished out another mini bottle of scotch and another cognac. “Drink up.”


	10. Chapter 10

Quentin awoke alone and somewhat relieved he was alone, not because he didn’t want Eliot there, but because ditching Poppy had been difficult. He’d really hoped his flirt with Eliot would at least lure him back. Eliot had been very bluntly suggestive in a way that surprised Quentin, probably because El was drunk, which was probably what the whole thing was anyway.

He probably just passed out after without giving Quentin’s suggestion a second thought, which left Quentin with a pair of Ferris wheel tickets that Poppy kept demanding to use.

Fortunately, Kady had helped Quentin detach from her at the end of the night. There was a reason why Quentin had based his main character, Sam, in _A Flock of Lost Birds_ on Kady. She’d handled everything with a cool demeanor that worked wonders with Julia, as well.

But now Quentin was alone, staring at the ceiling in his childhood bedroom wishing Eliot was there. Wondering if he’d have had the nerve to actually do anything with Eliot on the Ferris wheel.

The fantasy of what that might have been like carried him into the bathroom and through a pleasurable shower.

There were plenty of muffins left over from the previous day’s stress bake session, which Quentin consumed with coffee, alone in the kitchen. He didn’t mind being alone; right now, he preferred it. He cycled through misery and anger rapidly, but then finally settled on self-pity until the doorbell rang.

Right. His true love.

Poppy.

He knew for a fact these came from Poppy. She’d told him. There was no one else claiming credit, and yet it felt so _wrong._ Sure, Poppy seemed to care more than she used to about other people sometimes. Marginally. For her job.

Everyone talked about how much she’d changed, but Quentin really didn’t see it.

Maybe he was just broken.

No, he _knew_ he was broken.

The more time he spent with Poppy, the more he wanted Eliot, and he hated himself for it. Eliot didn’t want him that way. Quentin had little doubt he could’ve caught Eliot’s dick at any given moment, but that wasn’t all Quentin wanted. Pressuring Eliot for something he didn’t want wasn’t fair, and so Quentin sucked back his emotions and opened the door, putting on a smile as best he could.

As ever, the lovely smiling singer and the liveried gift-bearer stood on the porch. “ _On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…ten lords a-leaping, nine ladies dancing…”_

As she sang, Quentin stared at the oddly industrial miniature building the man held. It looked like a townhouse all lit up for Christmas, with snow around its base and the red velvet bow on top. When Quentin reached for the door, it expanded, and as he stepped through, he entered what appeared to be a dance studio.

The ten lords turned out to be people of every color and body type, some dressed in drag, some of indeterminate gender, all of them wearing black leotards and ballet shoes. Destiny’s Child’s Christmas album played from the speakers as the ten lords danced, some at the barre by the mirrored wall, and some leaping quite literally across the room.

As Quentin stood there awkwardly, a smiling drag queen hustled over to him en pointe, tiny mincing steps nonetheless swift and efficient. “We’ve been waiting for you, darling. Come get changed.”

Quentin ducked into a dressing room off the studio and emerged sheepishly in the requisite black leotard and some ballet shoes of the non-pointe variety, only to be cooed over by his dance instructor apparent, who insisted he call him—her?—Black Swan.

“Ooh you are just too delicious, sweetpea. Let’s see your moves. To the barre!” Black Swan gracefully leapt to the barre as the other lords fell in, leaving a space for Quentin to join them.

“I am not what anyone would call, um… coordinated.” Quentin laughed self-consciously as Black Swan moved him into position. He stood as straight as he could and brought his leg up to the barre.

“Oh, she’s limber, though.” Black Swan grinned widely at Quentin making Quentin feel both disarmed and embarrassed.

They went through some exercises. Everything was very basic, but Quentin felt pretty elegant doing it. As long as he didn’t actually _look_ at himself.

By the end of the lesson, Black Swan had taught Quentin a very short routine to “Spread a Little Love on Christmas Day,” a song that Quentin was familiar with. They truncated the song to the first verse and chorus and set Quentin in the center of the troupe to more or less flail around while the other members danced and twirled around him.

It ended with them lifting Quentin, his legs out so it looked like he was leaping, which was rather fun. He threw himself into it, showing he had enthusiasm, if not skill.

“Your true love is being sent this video,” Black Swan told Quentin.

“Oh no. You can’t show that to _anyone_. That’s going to be the surest way to get anyone to fall out of love with me.” Quentin laughed as members of the troupe gave him hugs and praised his gameness.

By the end, even though he felt emotionally battered by the true love situation, he was smiling and enjoying the company of the many drag queens and drag kings.

“Guess in the absence of lords to leap, they went up the food chain to higher royalty.” Quentin grinned at his new semi-friends as he stood by the door to leave. “I appreciate your time, your majesties,” he said with a grand bow that Black Swan had taught him.

He left wishing Eliot had been there with him. Eliot would’ve _loved_ that. The building had shrunk and vanished by the time Quentin realized he hadn’t changed out of the black leotard and still had a huge feather boa wrapped around his neck.

When he let himself back into the house, Henry stood there, staring at him with deep solemnity.

As Quentin met his gaze, Henry intoned, “You look very pretty, son.” Then he squeezed Quentin’s shoulder and proceeded past him out the door and walked to his car, apparently heading out for a while.

Quentin stood in the doorway and waved goodbye with his boa and then turned to head upstairs for a nap. Without Eliot around, there wasn’t a lot for him to do. Julia and Kady were really busy with their last-minute preparations for the rehearsal dinner and insisted they didn’t need any help.

After his nap, Quentin showered again and then dressed up in a suit. He checked his phone and saw no messages or texts from Eliot and figured he just wanted to be left alone. With a real sense of loss, Quentin packed up Eliot’s things and took them out to his rental car. The wedding was being held at Whitespire, in another dimension known as the Fairy Realm, which was suitable for weddings, Quinceañeras, birthdays or whatever one needed a formal and beautiful room for.

He figured after the dinner, Quentin could bring Eliot his clothes, which would also give him a convenient excuse not to elope with Poppy that night, or whatever insanity everyone seemed to expect him to do.

He drove to Poppy’s place and picked her up. She was dressed, well… The dress was gorgeous, what there was of it. She looked amazing in it, all emerald sparkle that seemed less appropriate for a rehearsal than a big Christmas party, but it had been short notice.

The rehearsal itself was low drama. Everyone went through the motions politely and happily, and it really was nice to see the whole thing going off without a hitch, because he knew it meant a lot to Julia.

By the time they all finally sat down to dinner, Quentin was both hungry and sore from the dancing. He pulled out the chair for Poppy and seated her and then took his place next to her, groaning a little.

“What’s wrong, Quinny?” Poppy asked, placing her hand on his thigh as she gazed at him with apparent concern. “We weren’t out _that_ late, were we?”

“No, no. It’s from the present today. You know…” Quentin nodded at her, not really wanting to go into it in front of everyone. Waiters were placing the salads and pouring wine. “Since it’s the tenth day of Christmas.”

“Oh, right. With the dancing.” Poppy smiled at him. “You love dancing, don’t you, Quinny?”

“Yeah. I do love dancing. Not really sure I got all the leaping, though.” Quentin sighed softly. It really was her. He wondered if she’d gotten the video yet. “I mean, yesterday was the dancing, but you were there, so.”

“Right,” Poppy said with a vague smile. “And the drummers drumming. I hope it wasn’t too noisy.” She leered a little. “Although,” she added, squeezing Quentin’s thigh and digging in her nails a little, “I know how _noisy_ you can get, Quinny.”

“No, not… That’s…” Quentin frowned as he thought over the song, trying to ignore where her hand was drifting and her implications about his noisiness, which he didn’t want to think about. He took a gulp of wine. “No, it’s day ten. With the—”

Quentin was cut off by Henry standing up with Julia, apparently to say a few words before everyone tucked into dinner. He couldn’t even concentrate on the kind and probably sage words Henry was saying as his mind reeled that Poppy said drummers were drumming.

Lowering his voice, he whispered to her, “Hey, you know, Eliot was asking about that spa you sent us to. What was the name of it? It left his skin so soft; he’d like to know if they sell their products.”

“Oh the spa?” Poppy smiled brightly at him, but it looked a little fake. “It’s called… Um… You know, it escapes me just now. I’m sure it’ll come to me later.” She lifted her glass of wine in the hand not gripping his thigh and swigged it.

“Yeah? Name escapes you? You remember which day it was?” Quentin narrowed his eyes at her as he felt fury rising.

Was it not her? Did she lie? What if she lied?

He knew from experience she wasn’t above telling lies. But everyone seemed so _certain,_ and there wasn’t really anyone else he could think of.

“The spa? Oh, it was um… Not the fifth day. That’s _five goooold rings_ ,” she sang and batted her lashes at him. “It was… um… Oh you know I have a terrible memory, Quinny. Don’t put me on the spot.”

“Yeah, of course, of course. So you remember who you hired to do the whole thing? Maybe I can call them and ask them what the spa was on golden ring day.” Quentin was trying to contain himself, but his anger had caught Julia’s attention.

She glared at Quentin, and he flattened his mouth, trying to contain himself.

Kady placed her hand on Julia’s arm and whispered something to her, but Quentin couldn’t hope to hear it above his angry heartbeat pounding in his ears.

“Um, I could look at my bank account,” Poppy said, all sweetness, eyes big and round and innocent-looking. “Just relax, Quinny. You’re making a scene!”

He was, and he felt terrible. He’d be quiet and handle her after the dinner, he supposed. He took another gulp of wine. When he looked up, Julia was heading for them, but her wrath appeared to be focused on Poppy rather than Quentin.

“You… you _lied_ to him?” The room went dead silent as Julia confronted Poppy. “You lied to _all of us?_ ”

Poppy tried to laugh it off, her expression still wide-eyed and innocent, like it was all a misunderstanding. “Haha, Julia, it’s not a big deal! I just love all of you so much, and I love Quinny, and he asked if I was his true love, and I said that _of course I was._ I was his _first love._ It doesn’t get truer than that!”

She’d withdrawn her hand from Quentin’s thigh, though, and now reached for Julia’s arm, trying to soothe her. “You understand, don’t you? Let’s not be silly tonight. It’s your rehearsal dinner. We should be celebrating you and Kady tonight.”

“No, I don’t understand, Poppy. Someone is in love with Quentin. Someone planned out two weeks of presents and surprises for him. And you just… stole that from Quentin.” Julia reached back and grabbed Kady’s hand. “If anything, this being my special night with Kady reminds me of how important it is to have someone in your life who loves you, who will be honest with you. I knew that anyone would have trouble getting past Eliot to get to Quentin, and I… I tried to _help_ you, and you betrayed him. You betrayed _me._ And if you really do love Q, you betrayed _yourself._ I don’t want you here anymore.”

Quentin sat up, astonished by Julia’s passion and rage. When she ordered Poppy out, Quentin got up to help her leave.

Poppy looked like she might burst into tears, but it only lasted a few moments before she shrugged, and then she polished off her wine. “Fine. This is a boring party anyway! See you around.”

She stood and smoothed her dress, picked up her purse, and turned her attention on Quentin, sugar sweet. “I’m sorry, Quinny. You understand, don’t you? What we’ve had together has been so special. You don’t blame me for trying to recapture that, do you?”

“Yeah, I do blame you. I… I honestly don’t even know what to say to you right now.” Quentin was numb but also incredibly relieved, which was a strange combination of feelings. “You need to go.”

Julia dodged around the table, pulled Quentin into a hug, and rocked him slowly. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Q. I really thought… I thought I was helping you. I really did. God, I’m so sorry.”

Quentin couldn’t blame Julia, not really. Not if she really wanted the best for him. Now that they were so close, Quentin whispered, “Why do you hate Eliot so much?”

“I don’t, Q. I really don’t. I just…” Julia hugged him tighter, keeping her voice low as people started to resume their conversations. “You’ve called me so many times absolutely miserable over him. He keeps breaking your heart over and over again, and I just… I hate that you’re in so much pain. When you said the gifter wasn’t him, I just knew he’d jump into the middle of things and try to spoil them for you. There is someone out there giving you these gifts. Even if it’s not Poppy…”

Quentin froze and hid his face against her shoulder, feeling the heartbreak of it not being Eliot all over again. “He can only do that because I let him, Jules.”

She patted his back and nodded. “I know.”

“I’m in love with him.” It was the first time he’d admitted it out loud. It sounded huge and terrifying.

Julia sniffled and tucked her head back against his as she whispered, “I know.”

“So does it matter who’s giving me the gifts?”

He felt her shaking her head. “No. No, but I think you should tell him.”

“I can’t. We work together, and he’s very…” The tears started, and Quentin felt terrible and stupid.

Kady joined in the hug, and he pulled her in, not wanting to hog Julia.

As they snuggled, Kady asked, “Do you really think Eliot’s going to turn you down, Q? You don’t react like he did last night if you’re not invested. You don’t spend _two weeks_ with someone’s family at Christmas if you’re not crazy about them.”

“What, you mean by leaving? That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.” Quentin relived the moment of Eliot turning his back, walking off with Margo as Poppy pulled Quentin back into his seat, the way El had disappeared into the crowd.

He reached into his pocket where he fingered the two tickets to ride the Ferris wheel. Eliot hadn’t come.

“Q, Eliot is mildly obsessed with you. How are you not aware of that?” Kady raised a brow and stared Quentin down like she couldn’t believe what she was dealing with. She turned her attention on Julia then. “You _like_ Eliot, Jules. He makes us cocktails and breakfast and never fails to notice when we’ve changed our hair. He’s thoughtful, in his own way. He’s not a bad guy, and romantic daydreams aside… He’s not bad for Q.”

“I love Eliot,” Julia said, pulling back to look at them. “I just don’t love how hurt Quentin gets by him. You’re my brother. The only one allowed to hurt you is me.”

Quentin sniffed, chuckled at Julia, and nodded, tears in his eyes. “Yeah. I can’t… I can’t tell him. I can’t deal with him ditching me right now. I’ll— We can talk about things later maybe. I brought his things. He’s staying here. I’ll just go drop them off. You guys enjoy your dinner, okay? Have them wrap mine up.”

Julia looked so sad, but she didn’t seem to have any advice to give him. “All right. If you want him to be your plus one, he can sit with you. We’ll get another chair for Margo. It’ll be a little squished, but we’ll just be one big happy family, okay?”

“Okay. I’m sure that’ll make him happy.” Quentin wasn’t sure if it would, but it was a nice gesture anyway.

Quentin broke away and, after a quick hug from Henry, headed out to the car and got Eliot’s bag. He returned to Whitespire without taking the detour to the Fairy Realm and instead headed for the stairs.

He wasn’t sure if he should say anything about Poppy.

Yeah, he should. Eliot deserved to know, even if it was likely that he’d be more than a little miffed he got blown off for the wrong person.

Or maybe he’d just be happily drunk, and they could hang out. Maybe with Poppy out of the picture, Eliot would come home with him. They could cuddle, and Eliot could stroke his hair and let Quentin feel sorry for himself.

But he had to keep it together. Let Eliot lead. Then, maybe after a couple of drinks, he could tell Eliot that he was invited to be Quentin’s date again, and maybe he’d consent to that.

Hopefully.

Quentin made it to the door and knocked, pressing his lips flat as he tried to pull himself together enough to not just throw himself at Eliot. It took a few moments for anyone to come to the door, long enough Quentin double-checked the room number against the text Margo had sent with where to drop off El’s things.

Then, slowly, the door opened, and Eliot stood in the opening, eyes heavy-lidded, smile crooked.

“Q,” he murmured, sounding toasted if not entirely drunk. “I missed you.” Eliot stepped back, door opening wider to admit Quentin, and he realized Eliot was just wearing a towel around his waist, and he was damp like he’d been in the bath. Still, when he held out his arms to draw Quentin into a hug, Quentin didn’t care if he got wet.

Quentin stared at him for a moment, the way that the water glistened on his skin, the way the towel just hung off his hips. How lithe he was, how tall. His arms were open, welcoming, and Quentin dropped Eliot’s bag as he drank him in.

“Eliot,” Quentin said, voice cracking and a little choked. “I’m in love with you.”

Quentin couldn’t believe he’d just said that. It wasn’t what he’d meant to say.

But it was out now, and so he lifted his chin up defiantly. “And I want you to be my plus one to Julia’s wedding.”

Go big or go home.

Eliot’s jaw dropped, and he stared at Quentin for a long moment as Quentin’s nerves threatened to surge up, and then Eliot reached for Quentin’s face, big hands cradling his jaw, and leaned in to kiss him tenderly. Their lips brushed together, Eliot’s startlingly soft amidst the gentle scratch of his beard, and then he deepened the kiss, his tongue slowly infiltrating Quentin’s mouth.

Eliot tasted like pot smoke and scotch, just like Quentin had imagined he would.

Quentin wrapped his arms around Eliot, not caring if he got wet or that they were half in the hallway. His legs threatened to give out as he was swept up into Eliot’s warmth. Maybe he should’ve waited until Eliot was sober or built up to it or done anything else. There was a real possibility that they’d have this night together, and that might be the end if Eliot panicked.

Right now, Quentin was just going to enjoy being held, being kissed with what felt like real affection.

He hooked his leg behind Eliot’s bag, shoved it past the doorway, and then started walking Eliot back into the room. Eliot grinned against Quentin’s mouth as if delighted with Quentin’s aggression, and he slid his hands into Quentin’s hair, combing his familiar fingers through the strands in an unfamiliar way.

Quentin almost stumbled and had to tighten his hold on Eliot to keep his balance only to realize he’d tripped over Eliot’s fallen towel. Somehow that brought it all crashing down on Quentin, the reality of what he was doing.

As Quentin’s heart raced, Eliot broke the kiss to let them breathe and whispered, “I love you too.”

As much as Quentin wanted to interrogate that, he was afraid of getting some kind of platitudes about not getting his hopes up, and right now, he just wanted to enjoy this. He knew the gifter wasn’t Eliot. He didn’t know what that meant for the future, but he would always be grateful to whomever that was because feeling desired had given him courage to get this far.

He gazed up into Eliot’s eyes, finding love and affection there, as Quentin skimmed his hands down Eliot’s back and then squeezed his ass, feeling Eliot hardening. Quentin curled his fingers around Eliot’s length, keeping their gazes locked. Eliot blinked slow and pleased like a big cat, a drowsy smile curving lips reddened with kissing.

“Bold move,” El murmured approvingly, and something about his relaxed posture and the lusty light in his eyes made Quentin feel like Eliot would give Quentin anything he wanted.

Then Eliot started undressing Quentin, nimble fingers plucking at buttons. “You going to get naked for me, sweetheart?” he teased, eyes never straying from Quentin’s.

Quentin nodded. His brain short circuited that this was really happening. He wished he’d had more wine. Or less wine. He didn’t know.

He trembled, feeling like a virgin though he notably was not.

He looked down between them as he stepped back, reluctantly releasing Eliot’s cock when Quentin’s shirt was unbuttoned. He shrugged out of his jacket, vest, and shirt. Eliot unknotted Quentin’s tie and pulled it off, giving the back of Quentin’s neck a light burn from the silk.

Quentin fumbled with his belt until Eliot put his hands over Quentin’s, easing them away so that Eliot could make short work of the fastenings. He breathed slowly as Eliot teased his fingers along the waistband and then took a deep breath as Eliot dropped to his knees, pulling Quentin’s pants down with him.

Which was when he noticed Margo sitting in a chair by the window, sipping wine. She held up her glass in a toast. “Don’t let me stop you.”

“Um… what are you doing here?” Quentin froze, horrified, holding Eliot’s shoulders.

“It’s my room, dumbass.” Margo smirked.

Which was true and possibly his fault for not asking where she was. “Um…”

She sighed. “Oh fine, I’ll go wait in the bar.”

Eliot glanced over from where he knelt in front of Quentin and smiled at her angelically. “Thanks, Bambi. I owe you.”

Then he looked up at Quentin, a smirk blooming over his handsome features. “So I thought we’d start with a little fellatio and see where the night takes us?”

She walked past, playfully peeking at Quentin, and gave him a thumbs up before she walked out and shut the door behind her.

Quentin looked back down at Eliot, his hand on Quentin’s cock. This was really happening. He almost couldn’t believe it.

“Guess this kind of blows my whole promise about rash decisions before Christmas thing.”

“The only thing getting blown is you, lucky boy.” Eliot stroked Quentin once, grip firm and knowing. “Unless you want to change your mind? We could save this for Christmas day, if your morals are quandaried.”

“It’s a promise I made to you. Does it count if I break it with you?” Quentin stroked the side of Eliot’s face, worried now about the glibness. He closed his eyes, trying to figure out the right move.

“I love you,” Quentin whispered, feeling helpless to say anything else.

“Hey,” Eliot said, rising to his feet and gazing down into Quentin’s eyes. “I love you too, Q. I’ve wanted this for a very long time, and it feels like maybe I’m fucking it up. I don’t want to fuck this up, Q. I don’t want to…read your signals wrong. You have to tell me what you want.”

Quentin shifted on his feet, kicking out of his pants and shoes. He wrapped his arms around Eliot and closed his eyes. “No, I mean, we say that to each other, and I mean it, but I need you to know that… that you’re the one for me. Poppy lied about the presents, and I was mad kind of, but mostly I was relieved. I don’t know who’s sending them, El, all I know is that you’re the one. Whatever anyone else thinks or believes or has planned, I’m _in love_ with _you._ I just really need you to understand that. Tell me you understand?”

“Yeah, I—” Eliot bit his lip, his cheeks pink and his hazel eyes gleaming. He sucked in a deep breath, took Quentin’s face in his hands, and whispered, “It was me, Q. I didn’t… You kept thinking it was everyone but me, and I didn’t even deny it. I just said…we’d wait and find out, and… I’ve been in love with you for years. I don’t know how you never noticed. I was so certain you were going to figure it out before I was ready.”

“Really?” Quentin’s pulse raced as he gazed up at him. “I thought… I hoped it was, but I thought that was too good to be true. I thought you… Ugh, why didn’t you tell me?”

Grabbing Eliot by the shoulders, Quentin backed him to the bed, pushed him down onto the mattress, and crawled over him. Looking down at Eliot, he shook his head, frustrated but so _happy_ he couldn’t help but grin down at him. “Fucking drag queens and drag kings, of course it’s you.”

He dropped onto Eliot and kissed him hard, demanding now that he knew it was safe, that it was true. He didn’t have those doubts or trepidation now that it was Eliot.

Quentin broke the kiss and said, “I decided to just pretend it was you until Poppy confessed, and then I just…”

He kissed Eliot again, filled with such glee that he couldn’t contain it anymore. Eliot laughed against Quentin’s mouth and shivered under him before wrapping Quentin in his arms and stroking up and down Quentin’s back. He trailed his blunt nails along Quentin’s spine, making him arch and writhe.

“I wasn’t—I wasn’t ready to tell you. I was… Q, this shit scares me. I’m not—This isn’t how I live my life. But I love you so much, and I want to… I want to be with you. When I realized you were weren’t straight, it was too late. Penny and you… When he ended it, I knew I had to shoot my shot. I just…needed time I didn’t have, so I… I thought if I made a big romantic gesture, you’d finally take me seriously, and I planned it so I’d have twelve days before you found out so I could work up to...”

“It scares me, too. I wasn’t going to tell you. I thought you’d get scared and ditch me.” Quentin wasn’t sure what he did that apparently gave the people he loved most in the world the impression he was straight, but it really didn’t matter now. “I mean, I guess I didn’t really have relationships with men. More one offs. I just thought everyone knew.”

Quentin rolled onto his side and pulled Eliot with him, just enjoying being naked with him, but he definitely wanted, well, everything. “I’m sorry I rushed you. Julia was so sure you’d break my heart, and she… She really told Poppy off. But I love you. I’ve loved you for years. I kept trying to… to fixate on someone else. I didn’t think I’d be welcome. I cried to Julia so many times.”

“Q,” Eliot whispered, winding his legs with Quentin’s as he stroked his cheek. “It’s so welcome. I’m…whelmed, but it’s welcome.”

Then Eliot shifted closer, hand sliding back from Quentin’s cheek into his hair. He tightened his grip, pulling Quentin’s hair just a little, sending a little thrill through him as Eliot went in for another kiss. As their lips teased together, Eliot chuckled. Very quietly, he said, “This is not really happening.”

His eyes opened, gaze locking on Quentin’s from close up. “Is it?”

“Don’t even joke like that, El. I’ve dreamed of this so often.” Quentin stroked Eliot’s back, then down his body, and gave his ass a gentle squeeze. It was amazing that he was allowed to just touch Eliot. He wanted to do everything at once, but mostly he wanted to kiss Eliot, keeping him close.

Still he put his hand between them, stroking Eliot’s cock, not with determination but just to feel him, to explore a part of him that was unfamiliar. “You’re not too high, are you?”

“Define ‘too high’,” Eliot responded, raising a brow as he pressed his hips forward to push into Quentin’s touch. “Because I’m almost always kind of high. Sobriety impairs my personal performance.”

Smirking, Eliot curled his fingers around Quentin’s cock in return, and that sent a shock of excitement through Quentin he couldn’t process. “If you’re asking if I’m too high to enjoy this, the answer is _no._ If you’re asking if I’m too high to make big decisions, the answer is that if I were less high, I would be freaking out right now, so let’s be grateful to the pot and the scotch and the village it took to get me to this point.”

Before Quentin could overthink that, El added, “Margo left me alone with you knowing what was going to happen. She signed off on my ability to consent. And you know how she is about those things.”

Quentin relaxed that Eliot got what he was really trying to ask. His cheeks warmed, body tingling that Eliot was touching him. He kissed Eliot again, tasting everything that made Eliot him, and savored it as he got more serious, closing his hand around Eliot’s cock, stroking with more purpose.

“What did you dream of doing with me? How did you picture it?”

“I want you under me, looking up at me, those big puppy eyes staring, and that long messy hair haloing your stupid perfect face on the pillow.” Eliot kissed Quentin roughly, biting at his mouth, and slid his hand down Quentin’s back to squeeze his ass cheek before his fingers curled under its roundness and parted him just enough the cool air brushed over his entrance. “I want your hands on my back, your nails digging in, your head tipped back just a little because it’s all too much and you want it but you can’t take anymore. I want you crying like you do when you’re overwhelmed and whispering my name, just ‘El’, because you can’t get the rest out.”

Then Eliot was rolling them over, putting Quentin under him, slipping between his thighs like it didn’t take him any effort at all, like it was just so natural for him to be there. He kissed Quentin again and again, devouring his sounds and making his skin flush hot with anticipation and excitement that Eliot knew _exactly_ what he wanted, that he knew _exactly_ how he wanted Quentin—and not anyone else, none of it was generic, it was all _Quentin_ he was describing, Quentin he’d thought about.

Quentin was surprised it was so close to his own fantasies. He’d had so many over the years. The emotion of the situation was going to be overwhelming enough, but his body surged with lust, growing hard in Eliot’s hand as Quentin spread beneath him.

He cupped Eliot’s face, then dipped his fingers into Eliot’s mouth, wetting them and enjoying the way Eliot suckled them, before reaching down to start opening himself up for Eliot. “I want that, Eliot. I want you.”

 _“Quentin,_ ” Eliot gasped, sounding scandalized and thrilled. “You’re a libertine!”

Like it was blowing his mind to find out Quentin wasn’t some blushing virgin, which what? He slipped his hand down to touch Quentin’s, caressing his knuckles as Quentin fingered himself.

Then Eliot drew back, sitting on his heels, and just stared, watching Quentin’s every move, expression ravenous. It was dim in the room, with heavy curtains on the windows and a fire in the hearth across the room, but it was bright enough for Eliot to see everything, to see _Quentin_ , and Eliot splayed his hands on the inside of Quentin’s thighs, pressing them farther apart to give him a better view.

“Look at you, Q. Gods, I’ve thought about this for years, and I—” He sighed, lusty, dazed. “I never imagined it like this. Never imagined you so…”

A ragged breath flowed from El’s parted lips, and his heavy cock swayed in front of him, flexing a little with Eliot’s excitement.

The compliments and astonishment made Quentin blush. What _had_ Eliot been picturing? Maybe that Quentin wouldn’t know what to do?

That had been part of his intentions with Penny, so he wouldn’t be completely lost. He’d wanted, if this ever happened, to be perfect. To be ready.

“If this is blowing your mind, I’m guessing you never found my toy box.” Quentin spread his legs as far as he could, shifting his hips up so Eliot could see what he wanted, even though it made him blushy to do it. He loved Eliot’s eyes on him. It made him feel sexy and wanton as he grasped his cock, moaning softly to give Eliot a show.

He did a quick lubrication spell to make everything go a little smother, which seemed to stun Eliot as well, and Quentin couldn’t help but laugh a little at Eliot’s amazement.

“So you’re blushing, but innocent you are not,” Eliot crooned, his voice gone throaty and low with arousal, and it hit Quentin hard, made his cock jump in his hand. “I never thought I’d see the day you’d be putting on a live sex show for me.” He was grinning, eyes crinkled, looking so young and relaxed and happy, and Quentin had made him look that way, had given Eliot that happiness.

Then Eliot worked a spell of his own, slicking up his cock, and he stroked it as he watched Quentin finger himself, tongue lashing his lips as his dark gaze roamed Quentin’s body like he’d never seen anything better in his life.

Like Quentin really was sexy, like Eliot really did want him.

Like, just maybe, all those years of suggestive comments had actually been leading up to this.

Fisting his cock, Eliot flicked his gaze up from Quentin’s ass to his face, and he asked, “If I’d come to the Ferris wheel…would you really have let me debauch you in front of Baa-baa?”

Quentin paused, pulling his fingers free, and laughed. “Oh god, I hope your interest in me is not contingent on Baa-baa because I don’t have him anymore.”

He sat up on one elbow to look at Eliot. “Little girl at the carnival fell in love with him, so… and I’m not going to ask a child to return him for a sex game. But… I do have tickets for the Ferris wheel.”

“While I am heartbroken over the loss of Baa-baa and that opportunity to be scandalous, I fully intend to blow you on that Ferris wheel.”

Eliot grinned wickedly and then leaned in to wrap his lips around the head of Quentin’s cock. Quentin startled and clenched around his fingers as Eliot bobbed his head slowly, watching Quentin’s face as he sucked him. His nimble tongue rippled against the so-sensitive underside of Quentin’s shaft and the little divot of the head, and the way Eliot looked at him, like he was even more aroused than Quentin was, like he might catch fire any moment…

No one had ever looked at Quentin quite like that.

Quentin bit his lip, trying to hold on. He didn’t want to come so soon, but Eliot felt so good. Perhaps the distraction of Baa-baa would’ve been smart.

He fisted Eliot’s hair, helping to steady his head as Quentin thrust into his mouth, trying to take some of the pressure off El’s neck. Plus, it was just sexy to assert himself that way over Eliot, get exactly what he wanted, where he wanted it.

He couldn’t tear his gaze from Eliot, watching how overjoyed Eliot was that Quentin was doing it. “So good. Fuck, so good, El. I was hoping you’d show up last night. I knew it was… but I bought the tickets anyway. Bought them ‘cause I wanted you so fucking much. I’d have let you do it, too. No questions.”

Eliot replaced his mouth with his slick hand and stroked Quentin masterfully as he stared into his eyes. “I want you too, Q. I want all of this. All of you. I want every neurotic inch of you, every shaky breath, every clumsy kiss. I want _you_ , Quentin. I—” Eliot cut himself off, lowering his head again to suckle and lick Quentin’s head as his hand stroked the shaft.

“Clumsy kiss?” Quentin thought he’d been pretty smooth with his kisses, at least with Eliot, but he didn’t have much time to think about that as Eliot swallowed him whole. Quentin lifted his hips, moving with Eliot. He felt good, so good. Almost too good.

“Want you, El. Want you, but go slow. Okay? You’re… um… a lot.”

Eliot lifted his head then, mouth sliding free with an obscene pop, and he smiled, tilting his head to the side. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not referring to the size of my cock?” His hand still glided over Quentin’s dick, working him more slowly now, a little less overwhelming. “Tell me what you need from me, Q.”

His smile softened, and he reached up with his other hand to rest his palm over Quentin’s heart. “I’d do anything for you. Please tell me you know that.”

“I do mean your dick. Was I not clear?” Quentin sat up on his elbows, looking down between them at Eliot’s cock. “I mean, I have toys and… but um…”

And he was blushing again and glad that Eliot liked him neurotic. “I mean, some practical experience but not a lot and… Is that what you want to do? Or should I?”

“No, I want to. I’m gonna lick you until you’re so loose and ready you’re writhing and begging for it,” Eliot said, dark, like it was some kind of threat and not the best offer Quentin had ever had in his life.

Eliot sprawled out on the bed between Quentin’s thighs and drew Quentin’s legs over his shoulders as he inched closer. His hands gripped Quentin’s ass, spreading his cheeks and propping them up, helping him tilt up his hips to give Eliot room. Then Eliot was kissing the creases where Quentin’s thighs met his body, nuzzling around the base of his cock, slowly suckling Quentin’s balls like there was no hurry, like Eliot just wanted to memorize Quentin.

It was surreal to look down his own body and see that curly dark head moving over him, just the top half of Eliot’s face visible—those beautiful hazel eyes—and the rest of him hidden behind Quentin’s lower body like that was where he belonged. Then Quentin realized where he was going.

“You’re going to do what?”

That was something Quentin had never done and hadn’t really imagined anyone doing to him. He wasn’t even sure how to feel about it, not that he had time to really think before Eliot’s gentle tongue slid over the little knot of muscle. Quentin yelped his surprise.

He held his breath, not sure he could handle it if Eliot licked him there again. It was ticklish but not. Just really warm and _good._ Quentin tried to stay still, to just keep himself open and unmoving for Eliot, but his body chased El’s tongue, wanting more of that feeling even as Quentin’s skin shied from the more intense elements that threatened to tickle.

Eliot’s beard scratched the tender skin a bit, soft with beard oil but scruffy in such a sensitive place. Eliot flexed his hands on Quentin’s cheeks, massaging them, spreading them wider, and he rubbed his nose along the strip of skin behind Quentin’s balls, nuzzling into him like this wasn’t weird at all, like he didn’t literally have his hot, wet mouth on Quentin’s hole working him open.

Quentin doubted it had ever even occurred to Penny to do this, not that he was going to think about Penny right now, but he’d done nothing to prepare Quentin for this onslaught of sensation.

Then Eliot worked a fingertip inside Quentin, stretching him, breaching him, and his tongue darted inside too, slick and shockingly strong, and Eliot moaned like he liked it, like he was enjoying himself, and Quentin couldn’t blush any harder. His skin sizzled with pleasure and embarrassment and the sheer impossibility of the entire situation.

As Quentin pulled his own hair and struggled not to grind on Eliot’s face, Eliot just fucked Quentin with his finger and tongue, applying enough pressure it didn’t tickle as much anymore, and Eliot sank his finger deeper and deeper.

Quentin moved instinctively against Eliot’s movements, relishing in the kisses and the stretch. That Eliot seemed to enjoy it so much made Quentin feel sexy and desired. Rationally, he knew he should feel that way anyway, but with Eliot touching him—kissing him—in a place he wouldn’t normally let anyone see, let alone touch…

“Need more… more of you. _Please._ ” He was begging, and it hadn’t even taken Eliot that long to get him there, but then, the fact that this _was_ Eliot made Quentin want it even more. “ _Please, please, please._ ”

Quentin extended his hands over his head, clutching the headboard for leverage to push back against Eliot. Eliot thrust another finger into Quentin, stroking inside him with two fingers and lapping at him soft and wet in contrast to the hard pressure of his fingertips finally, _finally_ rubbing against Quentin’s prostate.

As Quentin gasped and shifted into the pressure, Eliot groaned like Quentin was too sexy to bear and worked a third finger into Quentin, stretching him open, making him ready. Quentin ground down hard on Eliot’s fingers, luxuriating in the way it made him feel, getting that itch so deep inside scratched and by his Eliot. It was almost beyond belief.

Keeping one hand on the headboard, Quentin reached down to stroke himself. It all _felt_ so amazing. While part of him never wanted that to stop, he was restless to kiss Eliot again, to see his face, to know it was him.

Groaning, Quentin squeezed tight around Eliot’s fingers, flexed his thighs, and rode the bliss for all it was worth as Eliot spread him open, preparing him to take him. A shiver of pleasure coursed through him as he thought about this moment, so many years in the making. Eliot inside of him. Finally joined.

Quentin could hardly wait.

Eliot lifted his head to gaze at Quentin and smiled slow and sweet, seeming to take in how disheveled and needy Quentin was, how desperate for more. Then Eliot nuzzled into Quentin’s balls again and mouthed the base of his cock, licking up around Quentin’s fingers on the shaft as he thrust three fingers steadily into Quentin.

“You’re so eager,” Eliot purred, approving, lust-drowsy gaze on Quentin’s face. He shifted to mouth Quentin’s head, tongue tip flicking into his slit before Eliot moaned like the taste of Quentin was better than anything. He hollowed his cheeks and sucked, eyelashes fluttering, lips gliding down to meet Quentin’s fist.

“Been waiting years. Think I’ve been patient.” Quentin moved his hand, letting Eliot suck him. He felt like he was going to lose his mind with how amazing it felt.

He stared at Eliot doing it, the way his jaw moved, cheeks flexed. Those hazel eyes locked with Quentin’s gaze, hair askew and still damp from his shower.

Quentin stretched out against the mattress, sliding his arms wide open to either side of the bed. He fisted the sheets, biting his lip as he pulled on them. “Kiss me, El. I need you.”

“Mm you make a salient point,” Eliot murmured as he pulled his fingers free and prowled up the bed to look down at Quentin, smiling at him with his eyes, though his lips were set in a straight line.

Eliot seemed oddly serious, at least, oddly for Eliot, and then he slipped his hand beneath Quentin’s neck to cradle his nape and leaned down to kiss him. It started slow, a gradual blossoming of lips and tongues, and then Eliot licked his way deeper, devouring Quentin’s mouth with a low growl.

His long body settled atop Quentin’s, heavy and solid and hot, and his legs slid against Quentin’s, hard with muscle and soft with hair. It was the details overloading Quentin’s mind, the hundred tiny discrepancies from fantasy that marked this as _real_ , as _happening_ , as _now._

Now that Eliot was within reach, Quentin wrapped his arms and legs around him, squeezing him tight, reveling in feeling every inch of Eliot against him, or at least as much as he could touch. He ran his hands up and down Eliot’s back, squeezing and pulling at him as fits of passion overwhelmed him. He brought his hands up to slide through Eliot’s curly hair, shuffling it down onto Quentin’s face.

It was so much better than his fantasies. The burn of El’s scruff against Quentin’s skin, weight pinning him to the bed. It was like magic, beyond what he’d dreamed. He thought about the beautiful presents Eliot had sent, how he’d been there to experience them with Quentin, wrapped around him in that mineral spring, snorkeling and snuggling. It was all surreal and perfect.

A gorgeous romance with a man who felt like his other half.

Eliot lipped at Quentin’s jaw as they broke their kiss. Eliot’s breath was ragged and heavy against Quentin’s skin, back rising and falling swiftly under Quentin’s arms, chest pressing into Quentin’s.

“I love you, Q,” he whispered, sounding terrified of it. “I’ve loved you for so long. All I… This is all I wanted, and I’m not entirely confident I know what to do with it.”

Then he lifted his head and looked into Quentin’s eyes, expression pinched with uncertainty but so tender, too. “I keep trying to treat this like a seduction, but it’s not. This is…” Eliot scoffed, self-mocking, and added with a hint of hesitation, “This is the rest of our lives.”

“I’m very seduced, if that makes you feel better.” Quentin looked up at Eliot, hoping he wasn’t about to completely freak out and go running into the night. He cupped Eliot’s face, thumbs stroking his cheeks. “I keep thinking about how lucky I am, because you’re my best friend, and now we can have this. We can have each other on top of everything else. Can you think of anything better? I’m all yours now.”

Eliot melted visibly, his dark brows relaxing, his mouth curling at the corners. “Yeah? All mine?” He took a deep breath as if preparing for a fathomless dive and then his mouth collided with Quentin’s again, hungry and needy and overwhelming. Eliot’s hands were suddenly everywhere, sliding over Quentin’s skin, positioning his limbs, adjusting him just so, settling a pillow under Quentin’s ass to tip it up toward Eliot’s body.

Quentin’s neglected cock rubbed against Eliot’s belly, sensitive head catching against the hairs of his treasure trail, gliding over his soft skin, and then Eliot’s hand was between his cheeks again, stroking his opening as they kissed. Eliot teased Quentin there, giving him the tip of his thumb or half a finger or two fingertips, just inside, stretching just a little, until Quentin was squirming and gasping into their kiss, going crazy with anticipation.

Chuckling, Eliot whispered, “Yeah, I guess you’re mine now,” and he inhaled sharply like he was choking back the emotions he refused to have.

Quentin prepared for Eliot to say something glib when their gazes caught, and Eliot looked like he was on the verge of a quip, but then his eyes went soft and he just sighed.

“You’re so beautiful, Quentin. This is...” He licked his lips, nervous maybe. “I’ve never seen you like this, and I feel like my heart is going to explode.”

Quentin’s body was flushed from exertion and need, but at being called beautiful, his cheeks burned hotter still.

“I feel like I’ve been waiting for this since we met,” he admitted. “I want to be closer to you, as close as we can be. I want to share every day with you, and you know that doesn’t really change much for how we’ve been lately. Only now when I want to kiss you, I can just kiss you. When you want to touch me, you can do that without worrying that it’s the wrong time. It’s us, El. We practically live together already. We already know we work because we’ve been working. But now we can be closer. I want you so much.”

Quentin relaxed into the position that Eliot put him in, his hamstrings a little sore from trying to be a lord a-leaping, but the burn reminded him of how much Eliot loved him and filled Quentin with delight. Maybe a little terror, because he wasn’t immune. But this would be worth it.

“Yeah,” Eliot said with another of those sweet smiles. “You’re right, Q. It’s already been working.”

That seemed to reassure him, and he slid his fingers deep into Quentin, fucking him slowly on them as he kissed him again. Eliot’s thick cock lay heavy across Quentin’s thigh, the velvety skin scalding hot, and Eliot was taking his damn time it seemed like, but part of Quentin was grateful too, because Eliot really was a _lot_.

As Quentin rocked his hips with Eliot’s rhythm, Eliot kissed his way down Quentin’s throat, up to his ear, lavishing him with little nips and leaving throbbing marks behind. It was tender and assured, like Eliot was back on firm footing, and Quentin knew it was going to be good, that Eliot was going to be everything he’d dreamed he’d be.

Quentin tipped his head to the side, giving Eliot room to kiss where he wanted, to do what he wanted, and Eliot growled happily and sucked a bruise into the juncture of Quentin’s neck and shoulder, like he wanted to leave a mark on Quentin, like he wanted to claim him, and that was what Quentin wanted too.

Then Eliot pulled his fingers free and sat back on his heels, and Quentin felt bereft without Eliot’s weight on him, Eliot’s heat, Eliot’s closeness.

But Eliot just worked another lubrication charm, fingers moving swift and certain, well-practiced, and then Eliot was on top of him again, kissing Quentin deeply, greedy as he sucked at Quentin’s tongue, playful as he teased Quentin with his own. Then Eliot was guiding his cock against Quentin’s entrance, pressing against him achingly slowly, the blunt head intimidatingly big and solid.

And Quentin had done this before, but it was never an everyday thing, never something Quentin had entirely gotten used to in the five months he dated Penny. He knew he wanted it, though. Even if it sent a frightened thrill up his spine, a frisson of excited terror.

“Quentin,” Eliot whispered, lips against Quentin’s own, nose rubbing against Quentin’s as he gazed into his eyes from so close, and then Quentin was opening for him like he was born for it, letting him in a little at a time, clinging to Eliot as he sank into Quentin’s body.

Quentin dug his nails into Eliot’s back, what little there was of them, but it was satisfying. Quentin gasped for air as Eliot carved him open slowly, demanding entrance with his unforgiving girth and length. An ecstatic and slightly hysterical joy filled Quentin as Eliot moved in him. Sweat dribbled down Quentin’s spine. Every pore tingled, body on fire as his excited nerves reacted to Eliot.

“El,” Quentin panted as Eliot moved with sure confidence, overtaking Quentin’s body, the most pleasurable invasion. The physicality threatened to overwhelm him, but then emotion swept over Quentin, and he bore down, squeezing Eliot tight inside him as his body wrapped around him. That allowed Eliot deeper into Quentin, wrecking him with sheer joy at their union. Quentin shifted as best he could to see the bliss on Eliot’s face and then threaded his fingers through Eliot’s hair, pulling him back just to look at him.

Part of Quentin couldn’t quite believe this was happening. He had to _see_ Eliot’s face. Once he had, reassured, he clutched him and buried his face in the crook of Eliot’s neck. His breathing was shaky as Eliot stopped, allowing Quentin to adjust to his size, and Quentin let out a choked sob of happiness as he squeezed Eliot again.

He lifted his head to whisper into Eliot’s ear. “I love you so much, El. God, I love you.”

It was probably counter-intuitive that Quentin was crying, but as Eliot looked down at him, he had to see how Quentin was beaming as tears rolled down his face. Actually, El looked a little like he might join Quentin. His big hazel eyes sparkled with emotion, and he was giving Quentin this smile he’d never seen before, part somber and part exultant, and then Eliot leaned in for another searing kiss.

“You’re really mine, aren’t you?” Eliot whispered wonderingly, like it was more than he’d dared to hope for. His breathing turned sharp and ragged again, and he shivered in Quentin’s embrace like he was as overwhelmed as Quentin was.

As Eliot began to move inside him again, he kissed away Quentin’s tears and stroked his cheek with his thumb, so tender and thoughtful. It was a side of Eliot Quentin had always loved but little considered, a side Eliot didn’t like to focus on or show. But it was this Eliot who made Quentin breakfast or brought him coffee just how he liked it or fixed him the perfect cocktail on a long day. It was this Eliot who sneaked in little tailoring spells so Quentin’s clothes would fit better or stopped him on his way out the door to tuck in the wayward tag at the neck of his shirt. This was the Eliot who brought Quentin’s words to perfect life for their book, who couldn’t read his mind like Penny but read his mind in a way all his own.

They moved together like one being, connected so deeply Quentin couldn’t help crying out, couldn’t help clutching Eliot and crying harder, too happy to control the feelings surging inside him. Eliot made soft shushing sounds, comforting, and kept kissing him everywhere he could reach as their hips rocked in time and Eliot’s big cock anchored their bodies.

“I meant it,” Eliot confessed, words barely a breath as Eliot nuzzled into Quentin’s hair. “The gifts. All of them. I meant it.”

“Yeah?” Quentin looked at him, now relaxed enough to fully enjoy the dull, smooth pressure of Eliot’s cock inside him. As Eliot thrust, Quentin moaned loudly, almost deliriously, at how good he felt. How right.

Quentin pulled his knees up against his ears to get more of Eliot into him, as if that was even necessary, and he thought about the rings, the promise of marriage. His brain just about shorted out.

“You want… you want to marry me?” That seemed too good to be true, but at the same time, it made perfect sense. “I’ve been yours for years, El. In my heart. In my soul. I want to marry you. You’re… you’re the only one… I want that with.” He panted, having trouble getting all that out as Eliot pounded into him.

Maybe not _quite_ pounded. Quentin suspected he was experiencing Eliot’s softer side. He wanted all of it, though, and he wanted it for the rest of his life.

Eliot didn’t talk, he just kissed Quentin again and buried himself deeper inside him, taking everything Quentin offered with a need to match Quentin’s own. Quentin had never felt so consumed by someone, so possessed and so eager to belong. Everything else had been superficial by comparison, when he was too young or inexperienced or in love with Eliot to feel anything this profound. It shook him to his foundation, and he wondered if that was happening to Eliot too, if he was undergoing the same profound restructuring of everything in his heart as the walls between them crumbled.

“On Christmas,” El finally answered, lifting his head and looking into Quentin’s eyes. “I can’t—Not until Christmas. But I meant it.” His lips twisted into a frustrated frown, like he was disappointed in himself. “I love you, Q. You know that now, don’t you? Tell me you know I love you.”

“I know. I know, I know.” Quentin did; he felt full with it, satisfied and electrified. He was trembling, thrilled with the revelation and enchanted with the idea of the future. He remembered when he’d thought the rings were from Penny, how uncomfortable he’d felt wearing them. Because it wasn’t right.

 _This_ was right.

“I can wait, as long as you love me, El. All I need is you. That’s all I ever needed.”

Quentin pulled him close again, bending, feeling the stretch in his legs and his ass split wide open. It was sore and exhilarating and perfect. The discomfort gave his pleasure an edge, building deep inside him as he slid his hand between them to pull on himself. He grunted with each of Eliot’s thrusts, loving the noises El made and the way he filled Quentin.

“I love you. I do love you,” Eliot promised as he picked up speed with Quentin’s contortions, like he couldn’t hold back, and his head dropped forward to rest his brow against Quentin’s.

The headboard slammed into the wall as Eliot dug his feet into the mattress, using those long legs for leverage as he thrust into Quentin so deep he couldn’t catch his breath. He gasped for air as Eliot withdrew, realizing now how slow and gentle everything had been before. Then Eliot filled him again, and again, and again, and Quentin wailed and jerked himself as that dangerous pleasure swelled and grew.

“Never loved anyone like I love you.” Eliot kissed Quentin briefly, a clumsy, soft brush of their lips as they moved together, their bodies shuddering with the impact of each forceful thrust. “Never, never, never, Q.”

Quentin had never been in love with anyone as much as he loved Eliot, but he couldn’t speak. He could barely breathe as he pushed back against Eliot. He just looked up at him, helpless in the face of his lust and absolute need.

He clutched Eliot, nails digging into his back, and latched his teeth onto Eliot’s shoulder, biting down as pleasure started to crest. He felt utterly possessed and completely loved. He’d never had sex like this, never been so open to someone, so needy but having those needs met at every point of connection.

In this moment, he realized how utterly he belonged to Eliot. All the dating and sex with other people, none of it mattered. It couldn’t matter because Quentin had been so in love with Eliot, and Eliot, he now realized, had been in love with him.

The thought pushed him toward the edge, combined with the pressure on his prostate and how keenly he now felt Eliot’s love surrounding him.

“Love you. Eliot. Fuck.”

“Yeah? You gonna come for me?” Eliot whispered, low and dirty, lips on Quentin’s jaw as their bodies flowed together, their breathing as rough and rhythmic as the thump of the headboard against the wall. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, Q. Just all over me. Over us. I want you everywhere.”

“Yeah. You want… to come in me? I want to… feel you.”

Should they have used a condom? Late to think about that now, but then, Eliot was careful. He wouldn’t endanger Quentin if he was worried about anything.

Quentin shivered with the thrill and exhaustion that happened just before he came. That odd moment when he worried it wouldn’t happen followed by the thrill of his balls tightening and his body giving it up, leaving it all on Eliot, warm and slick between them. He came hard, each wave painfully long, wracking Quentin’s body as it peaked.

Eliot made a low, gut-punched groan and kissed Quentin hard, like Quentin was just so sexy he couldn’t stand it, and then Eliot was coming too, his hands sliding under Quentin’s shoulders, holding him close. In the heady bliss of it all, Quentin was only peripherally aware of Eliot whispering his name over and over like a prayer, of Eliot kissing his eyebrows and forehead and hair.

What was unmissable, overwhelming, was how deeply Eliot speared into him, how Eliot buried himself inside Quentin and ground his hips against Quentin’s ass, balls crushing against the tender skin, as Eliot tried to get deeper when there was nothing left to give.

Quentin clung to Eliot with all the strength he could muster, his blissed-out brain no help, and his limbs going languorous already as Eliot pumped into him with short, desperate little exhalations like he was losing his mind with ecstasy. His cum was wet and slick and hot inside Quentin, spread around by the tiny, greedy thrusts Eliot kept trying, as if their bodies would somehow yield more intimacy when they were already as close as humanly possible.

Then Eliot went slack, sighing his satisfaction and relaxing with his lips pressed to Quentin’s temple. For long moments, he lay there, cock slowly softening inside Quentin before he pulled out, gingerly, carefully. He lifted his head to look at Quentin, hands still grasping Quentin’s shoulders, still holding him, and then leaned in to kiss him again in the afterglow, gazing into Quentin’s eyes all the way down, lashes sweeping downward only at the last minute as their lips met.

They kissed tiredly, giddily, like dumb kids who’d just discovered sex, and then Eliot laughed, a sound of sheer delight, and rolled over onto his side next to Quentin, just gazing at him across the short span of pillow between their faces.

Quentin felt utterly wrung out and spent but so happy he could hardly contain himself. He cupped Eliot’s face and smiled, tears welling up again.

“I’m so glad it was you. I love you, Eliot. That was…” Quentin bit his lip and scooted closer. “Amazing. I’ve never… that was… that was everything.”

Words were failing him, and he felt stupid, but he hoped that Eliot understood. If anyone would, it would be his Eliot.

“You love me.” Quentin beamed and shivered happily.

“I do love you, you dork.” Eliot sighed like he couldn’t believe his bad luck and then grinned and kissed Quentin again, sweet, soft kisses that made Quentin’s stomach flutter. Eliot lifted a hand to glide through Quentin’s hair and then whispered, “I’ve always, always loved you. We’re both kind of idiots, huh?”

“That’s why we’re perfect together. I always thought I’d be truly happy if I could find a you, one who was interested in me, and look, I found a you.” Quentin laughed at himself, feeling silly about it, but then, Eliot loved him. Eliot had given him the gifts, had thought he was worth sweeping off his feet. “I had this whole speech planned, kind of. In my head. About how I didn’t care about the presents, didn’t care if it was you, that you were who I wanted to spend my life with. But I guess ‘I’m in love with you’ worked.”

“To be fair, it might not have worked at any other time. I’m known to be the same mixture of bold and easily spooked as the average housecat. But now…” Eliot shrugged and went in for another kiss, like he couldn’t get enough. “You love me. It’ll all work itself out eventually, Q. Maybe _very_ eventually… If I propose on Christmas, we’re talking about a _long_ engagement. I’m still trying to convince myself that being in love with you isn’t the end of the world, and I’ve known about that for years.”

He smiled, though, obviously happy, and then rolled onto his back, drawing Quentin’s head onto his chest. He played with Quentin’s hair and sighed. “The sex, though… That’s very persuasive.” Eliot exhaled shakily and laughed as he kissed the top of Quentin’s head. “I’ve never been that turned on by anyone in my life.”

“I don’t have to be married, El. I just want to be with you. I’d like being with you to include the mind-blowing sex we just had. I hope it’s not the end of the world. I hope it’s the beginning of possibly kinky adventures.” Quentin tilted his head at Eliot, a little worried about his fear but understanding it to an extent, because he understood Eliot. Possibly more than anyone else had. “I don’t know what you think I’m like sexually, but I did totally buy an extra pair of Ferris wheel tickets _just in case_ you decided to take me up on it.”

He blushed with the knowledge that no one else had turned Eliot on that much. He struggled to believe that, because he was still Quentin, and his mind didn’t easily accept that kind of premise, but he loved the idea of it.

“I mean, imagine it… Everything as it is, but instead of us going out, we fuck. Or we go out and fuck. Go out and come in and fuck. Go out, come in, fuck, and go out again. I think you’re sensing my theme here.”

“So what you’re saying is that you enjoy my dick very much and would like us to further pursue carnal adventures?” Eliot teased, smiling at Quentin like he was relieved, like Quentin had said the right things.

Like Quentin hadn’t been wrong about knowing Eliot better than anyone else.

El bit his lip and then admitted, “I was a _little_ worried about living up to whatever expectations you may have formed dating a psychic. But we’re in love, right? So… Obviously you’re crazy horny for me, and I shouldn’t have worried.”

After a moment, he brightened, mischief coming into his eyes. “Does this mean you’ll come to the clubs with me now? I want to dirty dance all over you and make you come in your pants on the dancefloor.”

And it sounded like Eliot had given that some thought.

“You assume Penny was a lot more interested in getting me off than I think he was, but… if he did go poking around in my head, he probably knew I was thinking of you no matter what I tried to do to shield it, so…” Quentin gestured between them, feeling embarrassed by the admission, but he couldn’t have Eliot thinking that their sex wasn’t the best he’d had. “I’ll go to clubs, but you can’t leave me alone there or make me talk to strangers. I’m more than happy to come in my pants for you. It’s happened before.”

“Wait, what?” Eliot blinked and wriggled down the bed until he and Quentin were level again, looking into each other’s eyes. “I would never leave you alone in the club or make you talk to anyone. I just want to show off my hot boyfriend. But tell me more about this coming in your pants. This is the content I need.”

Quentin laughed. “Come on. You know. Or maybe you were too high to remember the lap dance on my thirtieth birthday. I can promise you that Julia remembers. And Dad.”

Eliot made a considering expression, as if mulling through his remaining memories of that night, and then tittered. “Oh my god, Q.” His face flushed, he wriggled closer, and then he looked down at their bellies, on which Quentin’s ejaculate was now turning tacky.

Pulling a face, Eliot performed a cleaning charm and then raised his brow at Quentin. “Okay, this is just going to get sappier from here on out. I’m going to recommend we get dressed and go back to your house before Margo comes back up here and… Well, who knows what she’ll do, but it’ll be humiliating. Honestly, we’re lucky she relinquished her room to us for this long, and it’s all we can fairly ask.”

As if on cue, Margo barged in with her arm around an attractive blond. It took Quentin a moment to recognize her. “Fen?”

“Hi!” Fen grinned at Quentin as he grabbed for the sheets to cover them up.

“Get out of my room. I met someone in the bar. She’s _a fire-eater_.” Margo grinned and pulled Fen closer by the waist.

“Yeah, I know her. We were just going to, um…” Quentin started looking around for his clothes.

“I heard the wailing stop, so I figured you were done. Good job, boys. Now, get out of my house.” She held up her hand and waved them off.

Eliot telekinetically summoned Quentin’s clothes to them, which saved Quentin a good deal of embarrassment. Then Eliot stood, apparently unconcerned by his own nudity, and strolled over to where Margo stood. He kissed her gently on the lips and murmured what sounded like, “Worth it,” before extending his hand to shake Fen’s.

That accomplished, he finally went in search of his clothes.

Dating Eliot was going to be an adjustment, but Quentin could hardly wait.


	11. Chapter 11

Eliot woke in Quentin’s bed, in Quentin’s childhood room, and smiled as he basked in the weak winter sunlight coming through the windows. It was a perfect day, he decided immediately, mostly on the strength of Quentin curled up around him and looking so fucking adorable and _soft_ that Eliot could hardly stand it.

He kissed Quentin’s forehead and then closed his eyes to relive last night. It had been better than he’d ever imagined, and he’d imagined it _so many times_. Knowing Quentin was both more and less innocent than he seemed, that he was so surprisingly _bendy_ , that he could be made to absolutely beg for Eliot’s cock… Well.

Laughing softly to himself, Eliot rolled onto his side and curled himself around Quentin in turn, pressing his brow to Quentin’s as he whispered, “I love you, Q,” just because he could now, because it was out in the open, a thing he could say instead of just feel.

And oh did he feel it. It rattled in his chest like a wild thing trying to break free, this huge love he’d kept chained and still didn’t entirely know how to let loose.

Eliot steadfastly didn’t think about _getting married_ , but it soothed him to know that Quentin wanted to. That Quentin loved him like _that_. That despite all Eliot’s myriad failings and fuckups, his Q really did want forever with him.

Forever was a scary word, but it was a necessary one. Eliot liked to live in the moment—he _needed_ to live in the moment—but when it came to Quentin, he couldn’t bear the thought of losing him to someone else.

So it was all out there now. Eliot’s need, his interest, the seriously uncool depths of his devotion, which were rendered less embarrassing by Quentin returning them.

At Eliot’s cuddling, Quentin woke slowly, like he was fighting through the haze of sheer exhaustion to get to Eliot. Finally, his eyelids fluttered open, and he smiled. It was a sweet, soft, satisfied grin, like maybe Q was finally at peace.

“I love you, El.” He let out a long sigh as he closed his eyes again and pressed his face to Eliot’s chest. “It’s real, right? Really real? Because you’ve ruined me for anyone else.”

“I would hope you’re ruined. I did my absolute utmost, and you know I’m extra as hell.” Eliot chuckled wryly and stroked Quentin’s back and shoulders, feeling like he could _do_ this. Like this was a thing he wanted and a thing he could have. Like maybe, if he handled it with care, it wouldn’t blow up in his face this once.

Maybe it was stupid, considering Eliot’s own fairly fluid sexual history—at least, when it came to Margo, and threesomes, and moresomes—but he’d been intimidated by Quentin’s bisexuality, by Quentin’s unabashed flirtations with whatever-gender people that made him impossible to pin down.

He’d known Quentin flirted back sometimes. He’d known Quentin _looked_ at him sometimes, but somehow… Well.

Eliot was disappointed in his own inability to long ago just accept the simple truth that Quentin was a queer guy who really loved women. It shouldn’t have taken this much, this long, this crazy circuitous route for Eliot to realize what had been right in front of his face all this time.

It was easier to admit that in the early morning daze, when Quentin was a soft, warm weight pressing against Eliot absolutely everywhere, when Eliot’s brain was operating at its most basic level, torn between the need to empty his bladder and the imperative never to leave Q’s side again. All the missteps and stupid assumptions swam up at him from the depths of his mind, murky still with the remnants of last night’s dreams but clear enough to give Eliot pause.

Very quietly, very earnestly, Eliot admitted, “I was wrong to make you prove yourself to me before I took a real chance on you. I wasn’t brave enough to acknowledge what was right in front of my face. I’m probably never going to want to talk about this again, and you might be too sleepy to ever remember this, but I’m saying it: I’m sorry, Q. I got in my own way, and I…”

Eliot shook his head and kissed Quentin’s eyebrows one after the other, feather-light little blessings. “I’m an idiot in love. Please bear with me.”

Quentin raised his head to gaze at Eliot. “You weren’t the only idiot. We were both in our own way. It’s scary taking this step. There’s a lot at risk. I was scared that at any moment last night you’d freak out and run. But we’re past that mostly now, aren’t we?”

“I hope so. No promises.” Eliot sighed and rolled onto his back, flinging his forearm across his eyes. “I can’t always control my freaking out.”

He peeked at Quentin from under his arm though, taking in his sweet, worried face, and smiled a little. “But I do promise I will always, always love you, and whatever happens, we’ll work through it. Okay? Just…give me time, and we’ll get there.”

“We have all the time in the world. We’ll just have to remember to do some work now and then or we’ll get fired off our own book.” Quentin moved on top of Eliot, resting his chin on Eliot’s abdomen. “Black Swan said she was going to send you the video of me dancing. Did you get it?”

Eliot grinned and nodded, biting his lower lip. “I watched it. I didn’t let Margo see, though. She really wanted to, too. But I saved it just for me. I was watching it in the jacuzzi before you showed up.” He could feel himself beaming at Quentin, radiating love and amusement and affection. “You did great, Q. Um. And I got you a whole membership situation. You can go back there for more classes, if you want. I thought… I dunno. I thought you might enjoy learning some cool dances for when I drag you to the club with me. I wanted you to be able to practice and feel confident when I take you out and show you off.”

Quentin laughed as if he was delighted. “All right, but I don’t think I’ll be en pointe any time soon. Might just let them give me a drag makeover, though. Could be fun, right? Show them my Beyoncé dance moves? So what’s pipers piping going to be? Should I try to keep my family away from it? Warn them off the pink piccolos?”

Snorting delicately, Eliot stroked Quentin’s hair back from his face. “I would _love_ to see you in drag, Q. We could both dress up and prance around and have a kai kai.” He couldn’t wipe the dumb grin off his face at the idea.

How had he ever thought Quentin wasn’t queer enough to keep up with him? Quentin was a _dreamboat._

“As for the pipers piping, you’ll just have to wait and see.” Eliot mimicked taking a drag off a joint and raised his brows. “It’s a stressful time. I thought maybe you’d like to share some relaxation with your family. Hopefully your dad doesn’t order me killed. But honestly, he knows me. He can’t even feign surprise at this point.”

“Oh, nice. He won’t kill you unless it’s not very good. He’s very particular.” Quentin beamed. “He saw me in my leotard with a boa on and said I was very pretty. So it really was the gift that kept on giving. And you know… I bet Julia is going to be so happy. You should’ve heard her tear into Poppy when we figured out she was lying. I was going to save it for after the dinner, but she just went for it in the middle of everything.”

“Or maybe Julia is going to be furious with me for not just telling you. She has no appreciation of my dramatics.” Eliot huffed and leaned in to kiss Quentin softly as the doorbell rang. He gestured toward the door. “I think that’s your cue. Let’s pull on our robes. Wake and bake, Q. Wake and _bake._ ”

Eliot slipped from the bed, pulled on his favorite silk dressing gown, and stuffed his feet into his toasty shearling slippers. Then he held out his hand to Q so they could hold hands going down the stairs. _Not_ that Eliot was needy, but if they were going to be a couple, they were going to be _that_ couple, by god.

Quentin grabbed another of Eliot’s silk dressing gowns and pulled it on even though it lightly dragged on the ground on his shorter frame. Taking Eliot’s hand, Quentin followed with a dramatic swirl of Eliot’s robe, which he seemed to relish.

Together they swept down the stairs, billowing.

Julia and Kady were waiting at the front door, both beaming.

“I thought you were just going to take Eliot his things.” Julia watched them, her expression blossoming with hope. “Looks like you dragged him home.”

“I did. Finally figured out who my true love is. Turned out to be my first choice.” At the bottom of the stairs, Quentin kissed Eliot’s knuckles and beamed up at him.

Julia bounded over and put her arms around both of them. “I’m so happy for you. And I’m, um… sorry for all the cockblocking.”

Eliot laughed, a little taken aback. He patted Julia’s back gently and murmured, “You’re forgiven. Apparently neither you nor Q has any idea what an Eliot in love looks like. But, for the record…” He made a little gesture indicating himself and everything around them.

Then he looked to Kady and raised a brow, giving her a little shrug. _Mea culpa._ Poor Kady had known all along, having hooked him up with Free Trader Beowulf in the first place, and gods only knew what emotional toll keeping his secret had taken on her.

She smiled at him though and gave him two thumbs up. He should’ve known she had a soft spot for emotionally deficient idiots in love after her affection toward first Penny and then Julia. Not that Julia was an emotionally deficient idiot. She was just…fragile in her own special, efficient, brutally smart way.

A little like her brother.

On impulse, Eliot kissed Julia’s temple and whispered, “I won’t break his heart, Jules. Feel free to slap me if I go astray. I’m figuring this out as I go.”

The doorbell rang again, and Eliot slipped away to fling it open. The pretty singer immediately broke into a delighted smile at the sight of all of them and launched into the verse. “ _On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…eleven pipers piping…”_

The gift-bearer held a representation of an Amsterdam café, its front opening onto a canal with a tiny houseboat moored at the quay. It had a little seating area right out front under an awning, and Eliot recognized in the perfect detail Margo’s hand. She’d no doubt done this herself because it had been one of their favorite places. Only the best for Quentin and his family.

As Quentin reached to touch the building, Dean Fogg lighted down the stairs and boomed, “What have we got today?”

“Going to do some piping. I mean, smoking piping. I’m still sore from last night’s piping.” Quentin blushed but laughed as he looked at Eliot.

Julia made a face and shook her head. “Okay but not _too_ much piping. Our wedding is simple, but it _is_ tonight. I know some of us are more functional than others, so…” She gave Quentin a warning look. “Let’s have a good time.”

She took Kady’s hand and walked in, seeming to surprise almost everyone. Kady threw a glance back at them over her shoulder, smirking and looking completely delighted. Apparently she liked mellowed-out Julia as much as Eliot did. Well, more than Eliot did, since Kady wanted to put her mouth on Julia, and Eliot did not.

Quentin tightened the sash of his dressing gown before following them, taking Eliot’s hand. Eliot lifted Quentin’s knuckles to his lips and gazed at him before escorting him to Amsterdam in their dressing gowns. Why not?

Dean Fogg followed after, squeezing Eliot’s shoulder as they arrived. He murmured in Eliot’s ear, “Smart choice,” and then sidestepped him and headed into the café.

It was already mid-afternoon in the Netherlands, and the winter sun was at its hottest, warding away the chill. As they followed the others inside, Eliot told Quentin, “This is a magicians-only establishment. Josh recommended it to me years ago. And if Josh signs off on pot…” Eliot tipped his head to the side and grinned, bursting with pride at how well this was going over.

Ahead of them, Julia and Kady had already been seated around a low, circular table of gleaming, painted hardwood outfitted with a magnificent hookah whose eleven mouthpieces winked at the song’s lyrics. Kady had dropped her arm around Julia’s shoulder and was whispering in her ear, looking as loved-up as any couple should be on their wedding day. When she caught Eliot looking at her, she winked and jerked her chin toward Quentin, as if telling Eliot to mind his own business.

Well, he could certainly do that.

The café’s proprietor, a petite woman named Lotte, motioned to Fogg to be seated next, putting him beside Julia at the center of the seraglio-style seating, all low, luxurious cushions on a carved wooden frame. Everything was embroidered, its rich pinks, oranges, and blues accented with golden thread and silk tassels. Eliot adored it. And they had the whole place to themselves.

Quentin didn’t like to relax around strangers, so Eliot had gone out of his way to avoid them as much as possible for all these initial visits. Once Q had been there once and was familiar, it would be easier to handle them in the future, he thought. And Eliot definitely planned to bring him back here next time he needed to chill.

“They have a formulation for writers’ block, I’m told,” Eliot commented as Lotte motioned to Quentin and Eliot to sit on Fogg’s other side.

Eliot let Quentin sit next to his dad for obvious reasons and then settled in himself, mindful of his dressing gown not flapping open. If he didn’t pay attention to it now, he definitely wasn’t going to remember to later. He even adjusted Quentin’s robe a little, preparing him for the imminent mind-blowing.

When they were all settled, Lotte looked to Eliot, obviously expecting him to order for the table. He looked around at each face and then sighed in contentment as Quentin squeezed his hand on the cushion. He cared about each of these people, and someday, when he was ready, this was the family he’d marry into, and they’d become part of him.

“Lotte, before we order, may I introduce to you my boyfriend Quentin, his father Henry, his sister Julia, and her soon-to-be wife Kady? Kady and Julia are getting married tonight, and we’d like something to elevate our moods and keep things mellow and sweet. Something _romantic_.”

Lotte shone with pleasure; her big blue eyes gleamed. “I have just the thing,” she said, her English softly Dutch-accented. Then she looked to Julia and Kady, smiling bright. “Best wishes on your wedding, ladies. We will take good care of you.”

As Lotte bustled into the back to choose what they’d be smoking, Eliot looked to the others and rubbed his hands—and Quentin’s hand in the mix—together. “Hope you haven’t eaten breakfast, because Lotte’s is the best place to get the munchies.”

“Oh, this is going to be good.” Julia rubbed her hands together, eyes sparkling.

Quentin gazed at Eliot and then rested his head on Eliot’s shoulder. “My _boyfriend._ ”

~*~

The sanctuary of the Church of Our Lady Underground was remarkably beautiful, representing Persephone’s duality, the spring of her presence and the winter of her absence. Eliot sat in an excellent seat near the front with a relatively unobstructed view of where Quentin would be standing. Margo sat beside him, looking stunning as always, and beside her sat her new piece, the fire-swallower Fen who was apparently not a magician but knew all about magic and looked at Margo like she was high king of the universe.

Eliot could support that.

This close to the altar, the sanctuary represented spring, with the scent of freshly mown grass and blooming flowers. At the rear of the sanctuary, the arches were cold stone rimed with ice, and the air carried the tang of snow and pomegranates. It was nothing like the churches Eliot had been forced into growing up, and he welcomed the idea of a faith in a goddess with this much style.

And as far as style went, Alice Quinn was officiating, standing at the altar with a grand, leather-bound book in her tiny hands, wearing a dramatic red robe that was simultaneously arresting and not at all flattering to her physique. As a priestess, she probably had more important things on her mind than showing off her figure. Eliot thought this was probably an excellent place for her, at the center of all knowledge and power, undistracted by mundane concerns.

He reached for Margo’s hand, and she leaned her head on his shoulder. A contented sigh flowed from his lips as naturally as if they’d never been apart.

So much changed. So much didn’t.

Then Julia walked in wearing a pristine white pantsuit tailored perfectly to her lithe form, her long wavy hair worn loose but for the wreath of spring flowers she sported on her head. She looked beautiful, but Eliot spared only a moment to gaze at her before his focus shifted to Quentin behind her wearing his beautiful charcoal three-piece suit. Eliot stared, and stared, and stared a little more, drinking Quentin in. His compact form, the elegant lines of his shoulders and neck, the way his hair fell…

They’d only been apart an hour, but it felt like forever.

Margo gave him a knowing look and squeezed his hand as if to remind him he still had a whole ass wedding and reception to get through before he could get Quentin alone again. He had to pace himself.

Sitting through a wedding ceremony rocking a raging boner and a sense of personal trepidation was not how he’d pictured his Christmas Eve.

Seeing Quentin take his place at the altar, supporting his twin… Well. Something twinged in Eliot’s chest, something like longing, and he wasn’t going to examine it too closely yet because if he had a panic attack, there was literally nowhere to go and a whole church full of people ready to look on and judge.

So Eliot measured his breaths and tried not to act like an absolute Neanderthal despite very much wanting to storm the altar, throw Quentin over his shoulder, and carry him away to debauch him all over again because _damn_ he looked good in a suit.

Sappy music started to play then, and Eliot recognized it as the fucking Indigo Girls, and _of course_ because this was the most lesbionic wedding he’d ever been to, and he’d been to several. Then Kady stepped through the wintry arch on her mother’s arm, wearing a wedding gown like no other Eliot had ever seen. It clung to her curves in the most beautiful way, revealing not just her sex appeal but her strength and height. She was half a foot taller than Julia, and yet she was wearing high heels, and Eliot had a feeling Julia was going to swoon when Kady stepped close enough for Julia to have to tilt her head all the way back to look into her wife’s eyes.

There was something about this, about _that_ , and suddenly Eliot was picturing a different tall, curly dark head coming through the archway, a different dramatic entrance in a different dramatic ensemble like no other. It wasn’t hard to imagine what she saw, looking up the long, red-carpeted aisle at a small, dark-haired, dark-eyed lover in a suit, someone who’d once been her best friend and would now be so much more.

Eliot’s throat closed up, and he clung to Margo’s hand as he fought against a sudden stinging in his eyes. All he wanted in the world suddenly was for Kady and Julia to be _so, so_ happy. For them to have each other always. For all their differences to amount to no more than one more funny anecdote to tell the grandchildren.

As Kady reached the altar, Eliot took in the way Julia stared at her, awe-struck, so obviously in love, so obviously unprepared for the romance of it all, for Kady’s surprising flair. Kady’s mom stepped forward and pressed a quick kiss to Julia’s cheek, maternal and affectionate, and Eliot’s heart _ached_ at that tenderness, that perfect glimpse of family expanding before his eyes.

Chest tight, he looked then to Quentin, taking in his earnest, loving face, the way he stood proudly behind Julia, supporting her, lending her all his comfort and strength. And Eliot thought, just maybe, someday he’d like to walk down that aisle and stand beside Quentin and claim that comfort and strength for himself.

Alice led them through a simple ceremony, with straightforward vows to love and protect, to listen and honor and cherish, and then they exchanged rings and kissed, and Eliot was aware of the tears on his cheeks only when the cold breeze from the rear of the sanctuary chilled the moisture on his skin. He sniffed and stared at Quentin, his heart in his eyes, and willed Quentin to understand that he loved him this way, that he just needed patience.

Then Julia and Kady ran down the aisle together, laughing and holding hands, and Eliot prayed for the first time in a very, very long time that somehow, some way, it would all work out for them. He thought maybe Persephone would be listening. He hoped, anyway.

When Eliot finally released Margo’s hand, their palms were damp, and he gave her an apologetic look before kissing the corner of her perfectly-lipsticked mouth and whispering a thank you. Then Eliot joined the crush toward the portal to Whitespire and the Fairy Realm, heart racing with excitement that he’d soon be able to talk to Quentin, touch Quentin, slip his arm around Quentin’s waist and claim his role as boyfriend right here in front of all these people.

It ended up taking the better part of a half hour to get through. The perfect seat at the head of the sanctuary meant Eliot was one of the last to step through into the hotel and, finally, the other dimension attached to it.

Eliot was not prepared for how beautiful the Fairy Realm actually was. It _glittered_. Everything was wintry and white, pristine and sparkling, with white flowers everywhere, some huge and some infinitesimally tiny. Melissa Etheridge was playing already because of fucking course. The tables looked like blown glass, the dancefloor was frosty crystalline, and the seats were simple parsons-style chairs with white brocade upholstery.

No wonder they’d all been so busy. It was simple, for a magical affair, but for all that simplicity, it was _stunning_.

By the time Eliot found Quentin, Quentin was already embroiled in wedding photos as part of the wedding party, and Eliot hung back until Dean Fogg literally _bellowed_ for him and demanded he come join the group photo. For a moment, Eliot thought he might vomit from sheer nerves—that seemed awfully permanent, being included in the family photo—but then he loped over, beaming as he slipped his hand into Quentin’s and stood tall in the back row.

Standing there with the Foggs, it all seemed…kind of natural. Kind of perfect.

Quentin smiled politely for photos. It wasn’t just the wedding photography capturing them but friends and family also taking pictures on their phones. Leaning in toward Eliot, Quentin whispered, “I got worried that you’d decided to skip the reception. Looked like the ceremony got to you.”

Eliot rolled his eyes and nudged Quentin with his elbow. “Just got caught in traffic,” he whispered back.

 _“Boys.”_ Fogg shot them a look, and everyone smiled again, peering at the cameras.

After a few more minutes of posing, during which Quentin placed his hands in suggestive places on Eliot’s body, the rest of the guests were being seated. Quentin and Eliot headed to the front table to sit with family.

Another moment of nerves hit Eliot, but sitting with Quentin and Margo settled him down. The food and drink were beautiful, and the wine was delicious. Conversation flowed easily. Eliot caught a few admiring gazes toward the brides, but also at Eliot and Quentin.

Quentin leaned in and whispered, “See? It’s not so scary.”

“Patience,” Eliot reminded him, pulse speeding just a little. He leaned over and kissed Quentin’s cheek to soften the words and then looked up as Henry Fogg stood.

“Thank you all for coming out tonight to celebrate with us. It is, of course, Christmas Eve, and I wish you each a Merry Christmas, but it is also the night of Julia and Kady’s wedding. They’ve been building up to this for years, first as friends and then as more. Julia’s path has not been an easy one, nor has Kady’s, but together they are strong enough to face any challenge—and to overcome.” Fogg lifted his champagne flute, cutting a stylish and dignified figure in his tailored suit. “To Julia and Kady. To a long, happy life together. To true love.”

Eliot felt like he’d swallowed a hard candy, his throat chokingly tight, and he grasped Margo under the table for just a moment. It gave him the strength he needed to lift his flute as well and meet Quentin’s gaze.

Smiling to ease his anxiety, Eliot touched his flute to Quentin’s before sighing, “To true love,” and taking a sip. His ears and cheeks burned with a blush he couldn’t suppress because it felt crazy to be saying it out loud like that, putting it into the universe with the magic of his voice. His gaze caught on Q’s, though, and everything seemed all right again. As it should be.

“True love,” Quentin echoed, beaming at Eliot.

Margo rolled her eyes, but her lips curled at the corners.

Julia gave Quentin a pointed stare, and he looked up and around as if surprised to be at a wedding.

Quentin stood and smiled, buttoning his jacket with one hand, his champagne in the left. “What is there to say about my twin, Julia? We grew up together here in Fillory, exploring and mapping to the edge of this magical town. Some of you with fences probably remember us.”

People in the room chuckled, though a few looked annoyed.

“Every day was a new adventure. We grew up together, and then as our lives and our magic matured, we each started to map our own paths. It was bittersweet, but we found we could cover more ground that way, which would make our inevitable conquering of the world easier in the long run.”

Julia giggled and nodded as if that was a conversation they’d had when they went to different schools. Henry Fogg seemed to be fighting a smile.

“She met Kady as part of her questing and…” Quentin’s gaze went far away for a moment, a little misty. “I knew Kady from school, and I knew she was highly intelligent, creative, and beautiful—she does factor into our comic book a lot as a detective—but the way that Julia spoke about her, I just knew that there was a special bond between them.

“Julia was so in love with her that I couldn’t help loving her, too. She’s been a part of our family for longer than this night. The thing about Kady is, the more you get to know her, the more you love her, and having known her before she met Julia, I know it’s their strength together that has brought out the best in both of them.

“They’ve given me the faith to believe that true love is out there, even when it seemed impossible.” Quentin put his hand on Eliot’s shoulder and squeezed. “They remind me and everyone that it _is_ possible. I wish them many happy years, decades… centuries… I mean, she is a Knowledge kid.”

The room chuckled.

“And that everyone finds a love as true and sincere as theirs. To you, Kady and Julia.”

Eliot let out a shuddery breath as he gazed up at Quentin and then looked to where Kady and Julia were smiling and teary, everyone lifting their champagne flutes again and toasting. “To Kady and Julia!”

As Quentin sat again, Eliot leaned over to kiss him, tasting the sweetness of fermented grapes on his lips, the fruity tang, and then he tilted his head to the side and just gazed at Quentin while Kady’s mom said her part. Eliot barely heard her over the ringing in his ears. He had eyes only for his Q.

Under the table, he grasped Quentin’s knee, heart in his eyes as he held his gaze. He opened his mouth to speak, words welling up in his throat, propelled by undeniable emotion, but then a lovely, familiar voice soared over the gathering, and Eliot finally looked away to see Kady serenading Julia a few feet away.

Julia sat there looking overwhelmed, tears beading on her cheeks like crystals in the light, the wreath of flowers on her head not half as beautiful as she was. Kady sang to her a slow, honeyed ballad—k.d. lang he thought—and held Julia’s hand as she guided her to the dance floor for their first dance. _“I will never leave… I’m a dream that answers to you…”_

Eliot looked back to Quentin and thought _I could do that._ He thought _I could promise that_. And once more Kady was like his avatar, going before him, showing him the way, because Eliot would sing to Quentin like that in front of everyone they knew, and Quentin would look at him like Julia looked at Kady, like the world revolved around her. Like nothing else mattered.

He’d sing to Quentin so Quentin knew his heart better than Eliot’s own words could ever convey it. And then everyone else would know too, like they knew Kady loved Julia, and it would be okay. Eliot could live with that.

Not tonight—he wouldn’t ask tonight and steal Kady and Julia’s glory—but tomorrow, when the last gift arrived, when Quentin got his letter… Eliot would take him back to the dressing room, make him choose a gold ring, and slip it on his finger.

And then Quentin would know everything he deserved to know. His beautiful, neurotic little heart—except it was a _big_ heart, a big damn heart—would fill up with certainty for once, and he could look at Eliot without the shadows in his eyes, without holding anything back.

Then the music changed, some slinky R&B, and Eliot recognized Beyoncé and Frank Ocean just as Fogg called out, “Go on!” and started shooing people toward the glossy, glowing crystalline floor.

Eliot stood and gazed down at Quentin, extending his hand to take Q’s and then bowing over it, kissing its back like a gentleman gallant in an old romance. “May I have this dance?”

“Of course.” Quentin took Eliot’s hand and stood with him, threading past tables to get to the dancefloor.

He seemed a bit more self-assured. Maybe it was the dancing lessons. Maybe it was nailing his speech. But as Quentin turned and stared up at Eliot, his eyes shone glassy with feeling. Or residual highness.

Probably feeling.

He cuddled up to Eliot, putting his arms around Eliot’s neck as they swayed together. How had they not done this before?

There hadn’t been a _reason_ to dance like this before. It really was their first dance. Quentin appeared almost giddy.

Eliot leaned in until his forehead rested against Quentin’s and murmured, “Someday, Q.” It wasn’t quite a proposal—yet—but it was a promise all the same, and he sealed it with a kiss, brushing his lips against Quentin’s and sighing happily. It seemed impossible they’d spent years circling each other, both of them feeling things they wouldn’t admit, both of them in love all along.

But they worked together. They _belonged_ together. And for once, Eliot had no doubts.

“No pressure. I just want to enjoy being in love with you, being able to tell you that, and for you to return it. I’m really loving just being here with you. It’s kind of a beautiful symmetry. Now you have to help us with our plans for world domination.” Quentin slid his hands up Eliot’s lapels and then cupped his face and brought him in for another kiss before he let go and rested his head on Eliot’s chest.

“You’re perfect for me,” Eliot whispered, wanting Q to know it, to understand how true it was. He cradled Quentin against him as they swayed, tucking his chin on top of Quentin’s head and dancing with no space at all between them. Their feet shuffled together easily, perfectly in sync, and they didn’t need one of Poppy’s goddamn dancing charms to make it work.

“Julia’s perfect too, in her own way.” His voice creaked a little at that, and Eliot closed his eyes against the flush of embarrassment and held Quentin tighter. “And Kady. And your dad. I… I want to be part of it. Of you. In whatever way you think I can fit.”

Quentin sniffled softly, but it sounded strained, as if he was trying to hide it. He nodded. “A telekinetic would definitely help in world domination plans. I think it’s really good that you’ve gotten on board; I’d have hated to have to destroy you.”

He looked up at Eliot with his dorky Quentin grin. “You’re perfect for me too. They all love you. Even if Julia hated you a little sometimes. She’s protective, and she’ll be protective of you too. I guess she and I are the other package deal.”

Q paused, grinning harder. “I love you, El.”

Eliot’s heart thundered, its beat pounding in his ears like drums, and he kissed Quentin’s smiling face. “Love you too, Q. Love your whole crazy package.” He waggled his brows and whispered low and dirty, “And I do mean your _whole crazy package_.” He shifted his thigh a little to press against Quentin’s groin and laughed to offset how sappy he felt.

When in doubt, tell a dick joke.

“Yeah? That’s good because you’re going to be seeing a lot of that package.” Quentin blushed as if he couldn’t quite believe he’d said that.

They passed other couples dancing, and the song changed to something more upbeat that didn’t require slow swaying. That didn’t seem to deter Quentin, but behind him, Henry Fogg approached Eliot looking as if he wanted a word.

“Eliot,” Dean Fogg said, startling Quentin into whipping his head around to look up at his dad. “Son.” Dean Fogg rested his hand on Quentin’s shoulder and squeezed, detaching him neatly from Eliot.

To Quentin, he said, “Go tell Kady the portal will be ready in ten minutes.”

To Eliot, he said, “Let’s walk.”

Eliot shot Quentin an alarmed look as Dean Fogg dropped his arm around Eliot’s shoulders and steered him away from the dance floor toward the bar.

“Eliot Waugh.” That sounded ominous.

“Dean Fogg,” Eliot replied, steeling for the worst but projecting insouciance.

“I believe you should call me Henry. Kady does.”

Eliot blinked twice, schooled his features into something appropriately glib, and echoed, “Henry.”

“Good. Having been your dean for several years, I was concerned you would prove unable to take instruction.” Dean Fo— _Henry_ smiled just a little, hinting that it was a joke.

Probably true though, honestly. Eliot knew he’d been a handful as a student. He smiled and shrugged one shoulder. “I’ve grown.”

“I can see that. I was wondering if you’d ever get around to telling Quentin how you feel.”

Eliot looked at Henry, alarmed to realize the older man had known. Judging by his knowing smile, he’d known for a long while.

“I—Um.” Eliot raised a finger and tried to articulate a complete thought, but Henry waved him off.

“If I hadn’t realized you were in love with my son years ago, I really would’ve had to kill you for stringing him along. Fortunately for you, you had no idea you were doing it.” Henry sighed and massaged his temple. “You two have been an _enormous_ headache for me. When Quentin started dating William Adiyodi, I thought I might lose my mind.”

Again, Eliot tried to muster words, but Henry held up a quieting hand. “No, no. I know. You’re an idiot, Eliot. I’m not angry with you. For now. But do me a favor and be good to my son, or we’ll be revisiting this conversation.”

Well, it was less of a shovel speech than Eliot had expected, so he was going to count that as a win.

Then they were at the front of the line for the bar, and Henry ordered them both Rusty Nails. Eliot lifted his cocktail to clink against Henry’s and said, “To the Foggs. May they all live happily ever after.”

“Cheers,” Henry responded. “I’ll drink to that.”

Then Henry steered Eliot back into the crowd and separated from him, going his own way and leaving Eliot to find his way back to Quentin’s side. He found Quentin with Kady and Julia, and it appeared some dramatics were taking place in front of the portal Henry had mentioned.

Kady looked nervous, but her eyes were sparkling with hope. As Eliot strolled up, Kady looked to him and smiled, beckoning him closer. “Eliot, tell Julia what I did. Tell her how it’s okay, and we arranged everything.”

“Oh.” Put on the spot, Eliot reached for Quentin’s hand and drew him in before slipping his arm around Quentin’s waist. “Well… When I found out Penny had dumped Quentin, I saw my chance to woo him. You know, the full woo, not just a semi-woo or a minor woo. Major league wooing. So I reached out to Kady.”

Kady nodded, and Eliot looked from Julia to Quentin, smiling a little. “She put me in touch with Free Trader Beowulf, with whom she has been working for some time. She arranged for my last-minute meeting with Pouncy Silverkitten and helped me storyboard the gifts. I was in a real time crunch, just a matter of hours to develop the gifts from concept to execution, and Kady both arranged for a bulk discount—” He paused and looked at her. “Thanks, Kady.”

“My pleasure.” She smiled, but her gaze never left Julia.

With a delicate snort, Eliot continued. “—and made really quite a hefty commission from selling so many portals and pocket dimensions and… Well, it was really expensive, is what I’m saying, and Kady got the ten percent finder’s fee, with my blessing, so she could fund the honeymoon of her dreams—again, through Free Trader Beowulf, using her employee discount—without any undue stress on you, Julia.”

Eliot looked at Quentin’s twin and gestured to Kady. “She wanted something you’d remember for the rest of your lives, something unmistakably romantic to forever cement your transition from best friends to wives.”

Kady bit her lip and ran a hand through her curls, expression pleading. “I was in cahoots with Eliot. He wanted to romance one of the Fogg twins, and obviously I was the one to ask.” She shrugged, like it wasn’t as big of a deal as it obviously was, and then asked, “So tell me, Jules, did I get it right? Will you run away with me to Bora Bora and just…forget about being pragmatic for a week? I want to be crazy in love with my wife, away from everyone and everything. I want to get so lost in you that I forget what day it is, that I forget my own name. I want us to be together forever, not because we get along, not because we make sense, _not_ because we’re a good idea. I want us to be together forever because you make me feel _alive._ ”

Julia looked between Eliot and Kady slowly as if she couldn’t believe her ears.

“You’re both kind of crazy, you realize that, right? We could’ve used that money to…” Julia sighed and looked down at her shoes as if she was terribly disappointed. “But Bora Bora and being lost in each other for a week does sound really…”

Julia bit her lip and smirked, tilting her head as she eyed Kady. “Maybe it’s the drugs talking but… do we have to wear clothes? Because I was seriously considering asking Q if we could borrow some of his pocket dimensions but… somewhere untouched by my brother sounds even better.”

“Hey! I could’ve gone to Bora Bora. You don’t know.” Quentin held his hands up in question as to why he was brought into it.

“You call when you find a new bakery, Q. I’d know.”

Eliot laughed. “It’s true, Q. You do.”

Kady didn’t laugh, though. She was gazing at Julia with her heart in her eyes, and she reached out to stroke the backs of her fingers along Julia’s cheek. “Just the two of us, skyclad and wild-haired, staying in a beach house built on stilts over the sea, sleeping naked under a lazy ceiling fan, tangled in one another. Just the two of us, eating ceviche and mangos and drinking champagne all day long, smoking some of the _excellent_ weed Lotte sent me home with as a wedding gift.”

Then Kady ducked her head to kiss Julia gently, lingering with their lips together, her hands on Julia’s petite shoulders. “Just us, Jules. You and me, beginning the rest of our long, beautiful lives together the way we mean to go on. The money will take care of itself. We both work hard. We deserve to play hard too. There will never be a better time. Run away with me. Right now. We don’t need luggage or our keys or anything. Just take my hand. We’ll step through the portal and get lost in our love story.”

Julia pressed her lips together, but her eyes had lit up. “Skyclad in a beach house, hm? I can do this, but you have to promise me that you’ll never keep that kind of secret from me again, okay? I know that’s your Free Trader Beowulf thing, but we need to be clear on money until we’re millionaires like these dorks.”

She pointed her thumb at Quentin and Eliot.

Quentin sighed.

Julia took Kady’s hands and grinned. “Let’s get out of here.”

Kady looked like she might burst with happiness, practically glowing as she lifted her chin in parting greeting to Quentin and Eliot. “See ya, losers.”

Then she pulled Julia with her through the portal, and they were gone.

Staring at the spot where the portal had been, Eliot laughed and squeezed Quentin closer. “Your sister’s great, Q, but please tell me you’re never going to make me justify thrilling vacations for the fuck of it.” He turned his head to kiss Quentin’s hair and then craned his neck to look into Q’s eyes, smiling. “I am not the least bit pragmatic, Quentin. I’m going to require a steady diet of adventure and travel and copious nudity just because.”

“As our work allows, sure. I’m not against being naked and working in Bora Bora, just for the record.” Quentin squeezed Eliot. “So did Dad scare you off? He looked like he had Mad Dad face on.”

“Nah, actually…” Eliot raised his brow and grinned crookedly at Q. “I think that was his way of welcoming me to the family.”

Eliot took Quentin by the hand then and tugged him along behind him, heading toward the exit. All he wanted was to get Q alone, to hold him and kiss him and—

He stopped dead and turned to look at Quentin. “Our deadline, Q.”

They’d practically forgotten all about it. As their work allowed, Eliot’s pert little ass.

“Shit. Right. I got so wrapped up in… but we are pretty close, right? Not impossible.” Quentin turned them, and they saw Henry holding court with very affectionate and interested ladies. “We could give that work-from-home naked idea a try. I don’t think Dad’s going to come home tonight.”

Eliot grinned, sensing a game in their future. He scanned the party for Margo and spotted her making out with Fen the fire-eater. She wouldn’t miss Eliot.

Leaning in, he whispered with his lips against Quentin’s sensitive little ear. “I’ve been waiting years for this.”

Without waiting for a reply, he took off running, darting through the crowd like a mischievous teenager and not the thirty-something idiot he actually was. He had places to be, work to do, and Quentin to debauch.

~*~

Together they dashed out of the Whitespire hotel and made it about half a block in the frigid air before Eliot was winded, and Quentin summoned their faithful sleigh to drag them home. The ride gave them a chance to make out shamelessly and get mostly naked inside their warm, private little bubble of magic. Once at the cabin, they grabbed their clothes and streaked over the snowy driveway and into the house.

Slamming the door behind them, Quentin and Eliot laughed and dropped their clothes to start kissing again. Only now their feet were cold and wet, and they really did have work to do.

Quentin broke the kiss. “I’ll brew some coffee, grab the whiskey, and join you upstairs in a minute.”

“You’re an angel,” Eliot declared before dragging Q in by the hair for one more excitable kiss. Then he finally let him go and dashed up the stairs to his work area.

Eliot had far more work left to do than Q did—the art just took so much longer—and he couldn’t afford to dawdle. Putting far from his mind the thought of Quentin downstairs, naked in the kitchen, he focused on clean penciling and shading.

He was actually so absorbed in drawing, it took him a while to notice when Quentin joined him. He smelled the coffee, though, and looked up with a dopey grin for Quentin. “Well, hello, gorgeous.”

As Eliot accepted the Irish coffee, he gestured toward his completed panels. “You don’t have to tell me I’m a genius if you promise to suck my cock when I’m done. My ego responds both to praise _and_ fellatio.”

He gazed right at Quentin, trying to gauge the success of the flippant approach. There’d been so much earnest emotion already tonight, he wasn’t certain he could handle any more.

“I know that you’re saying I can save my praise to the end, but all I’m hearing is that I have to wait hours to suck your cock.” Quentin pulled up a stool to sit next to Eliot, looking over the panels more seriously now as he sipped from his own mug. “These are really good though. Let me warm up. Relaxing my gag reflex.”

Eliot just stared at Quentin for a moment and then broke into a helplessly charmed smile.

“Hey,” he said, waiting for Quentin to meet his gaze. “Hey, Q. I love you.” Sipping his Irish coffee, Eliot watched Quentin over the rim of the mug, beaming and poleaxed by sheer affection.

Quentin set his coffee down and scooted closer so he could kiss Eliot. “I love you, too, El. Can I tell you a secret?”

Still beaming, Eliot set aside his coffee too and raised a brow. “I want all your secrets. Give them to me.”

“I can’t take all the mystery out of our relationship on the first night.” Quentin grabbed the edge of the stool he sat on and wiggled playfully. “When I ordered your drafting table for my apartment, I measured out that I could comfortably crouch under it in the event of giving you blowjobs while you worked.”

“Wait, what?” Eliot struggled with his dropped-jaw situation, eyes wide and bulging as he stared at Q in disbelief. “Quentin!” he gasped, scandalized and exhilarated. “You’re a _very bad boy!”_

“I didn’t want to end up injuring myself! That’s the manifestation of practicality that I got from our twinship, I guess. Avoiding potential back pain. Preserving my knees. You know…” Quentin blushed and looked away, and if Eliot had started to suspect Quentin was fucking with him, his sudden shyness spoke volumes.

“Anyway, we have a deadline so you should probably focus on your work.” Quentin hopped up off the stool and picked up his coffee. He leaned in and gave Eliot a chaste kiss on the cheek.

Eliot turned his head to catch Quentin’s mouth instead and flicked out his tongue wickedly to lick along the seam of Quentin’s puckered lips. Then he reached for Quentin’s coffee and gently removed it from his grasp, setting it down on the table again before Eliot stood and brought up his hands to cradle Quentin’s neck.

Slowly, mindful of the art supplies strewn around, Eliot backed Quentin toward the couch. When Quentin’s calves hit the cushions, Eliot toppled him down onto it, following him down and sprawling out on top of him as he kissed him more deeply.

“I’m practically done,” Eliot murmured as he combed his fingers into Quentin’s hair, reveling in the silken strands against his skin. “I’ll finish the art when I’m finished with you, which may be never, so I hope you’re prepared for premature retirement.”

Quentin laughed breathily as he stroked Eliot’s back. “You have a whole page to do. We’ll be _up all night_.”

The sultry way he said it piqued Eliot’s interest, and he wondered for the thousandth time why they hadn’t done this sooner. Quentin slithered under Eliot, hands seeming to be everywhere as if he couldn’t get enough of touching Eliot now that he was allowed.

“What will we say if Santa shows up?”

“We’ll say thank you, because this Christmas we both finally got what we fucking wanted.” Eliot shivered under the onslaught of Q’s touches and rolled his hips down to press his hardening cock against Quentin’s warm, soft skin.

Quentin bit his lip and moaned, and it was amazing. After all that time believing that Quentin was straight, it was beyond gratifying to know how turned on he was by Eliot’s body. And to know that he spent time thinking about sucking Eliot’s cock, _planned_ for it.

Sure, Eliot knew that he was attractive, and he never had much trouble seducing anyone outside of Quentin that he wanted to be with. But now imagining Quentin’s extremely quiet attempts to seduce Eliot, spanning over almost a decade…

Well, no one else had put in that kind of effort. In its own absurd and Quentin way, it was kind of romantic.

“Did you ever think about me fucking you?” Quentin asked, as if this was an innocent and not at all leading question.

“Yes,” Eliot answered without even thinking about it. It was immediate. Visceral. He pressed against Quentin more urgently and gazed into his eyes, not quite smirking. “Did you?”

“I did. Could never get a real feel for your preference, and I just thought maybe you were vers and… I like to be flexible.” Quentin looked up at Eliot, tracing Eliot’s nipple. “I haven’t really done that… with a man.”

Why was Eliot not surprised Penny hadn't been down to bottom?

"Oh well, in that case, if it's your first time..." Eliot practically glowed with excitement. "Maybe we shouldn't do it on the couch on the landing. Unless that's what you want to remember? Tell me how you want it, and I'll make it happen. We do have access to a number of thrilling getaways."

“You know I’d remember it no matter what because it’s you, right?” Quentin ran his hands over Eliot’s back and through his hair again. “Too many choices, and I’m guessing the milk bath ladies wouldn’t be thrilled to witness this. How about we just take it to the bed. Keep it simple?”

That answer made Eliot’s chest feel warm and full. Like Quentin didn’t need anything special for this to matter to him.

“You’re the sweetest boy in the world, and you probably don’t even fucking realize it,” Eliot said drily, trying to hide how touched he was. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”

That didn’t stop Eliot from climbing to his feet and holding out a hand to Quentin to help him up and guide him to Quentin’s bedroom—his _childhood_ bedroom, which was just kinky enough to please Eliot.

Eliot sighed as he stretched out on the bed, making a pretty picture of himself, working his angles, finding the light. If Quentin was going to remember this always, Eliot wanted a perfect memory for him.

“I guess it’s where I traditionally lose my virginity.” Quentin gave a little shrug, smirking as he slid into bed with Eliot. He stroked Eliot’s side as he wiggled closer, stoking Eliot’s growing anticipation. “But this is going to be so much more memorable and special because I’m in love with you. This will rewrite everything, you know? This will be all that matters.”

Quentin held Eliot by the nape and pulled him in to kiss him tenderly, with a sweet delicateness that made Eliot tingle. As they kissed, Quentin traced Eliot’s spine, rolling fingertips lightly over each knob until they danced to the cleft of Eliot’s ass, down lower, teasing.

Eliot melted against Quentin and sighed, releasing all his tension even as the anticipation built yet higher, and he pressed into Quentin and devoured his mouth as Quentin’s fingers slipped closer to his opening.

“I love your hands,” Eliot murmured, breathless from kissing. “And I love your body. I love your cock. And I love you, Q. All of you. Every part, every mood.” He curled his toes in expectation of imminent bliss and wound the fingers of one hand into Quentin’s hair as he guided Quentin’s lips to his neck.

“Yeah?” Quentin kissed Eliot’s neck, nuzzling and then biting, and Eliot was reminded of Quentin biting his shoulder the night before. He was going to be positively covered in bruises and scratches, and he loved that.

Quentin rolled them over, settling his weight on Eliot as he kissed down his body, taking his time as if he wanted to bathe Eliot with his tongue. And Eliot? Didn’t mind at all.

Q was always tender, and thorough, and heartbreakingly sweet, and Eliot just wanted to go with it, just surrender and see where Quentin took things.

“Yeah,” he echoed when he remembered how to speak. He squirmed under Quentin, enjoying the heavy, solid weight above him and the soft, yielding pressure of the mattress beneath him, and it was _heaven_. “Q, just…anything, it’s perfect. It’s all perfect. I just _want_ you.”

Eliot reached to caress Quentin’s cock, pressing his thumb against the slit, rubbing back and forth over the head as he writhed under Quentin’s mouth. “Want you, want you,” he whispered, forgetting other words, forgetting everything but how glorious it was to be in love, to be loved, on Christmas Eve in Fillory.

Quentin moaned at Eliot’s touch and then started to contort himself, turning around slowly, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake until Quentin was facing Eliot’s cock and left Eliot facing his. “One of the first things I imagined doing… because it was what I had experience with… was sucking your cock.”

The idea of Quentin fantasizing about that—wondering if that went all the way back to Brakebills—made Eliot moan even before Quentin took Eliot into his mouth. He suckled slowly, teasing the head, tongue flicking around the underside. Both hands, lightly lubed, gripped Eliot’s base, making up the difference for his mouth as he started to work more of Eliot past his lips.

Releasing a shaky breath, Eliot shivered and resisted the urge to thrust into Quentin’s mouth. It felt so fucking good though after their long, stressful evening and all the romance and drama and…

With their height difference, it was a little tricky, but Eliot propped himself on an elbow and leaned in, directing Quentin’s cock to his lips with his other hand. He was a professional grade cocksucker, and this small challenge would not defeat him. He moaned his satisfaction as he sucked Quentin into his mouth, back arching with his delight at the hot, hard bulk of Q’s cock against his tongue.

Quentin shuddered and paused briefly, apparently getting used to Eliot sucking him, leaving a taste of precum on Eliot’s tongue. The immediate and enthusiastic response from Quentin was very satisfying. Q showed his pleasure bodily and seemed sensitive all over.

Then with a burst of energy or affection, Quentin took more of Eliot into him, indeed relaxing his gag reflex. It was better than Eliot had ever imagined that Quentin would be at this, like he really had practiced. He was prepared and more than ready for Eliot.

Eliot wanted to praise Quentin, to tell him how sweet he was, how thoughtful and good and beautiful and fucking _perfect_ for Eliot, but he wasn’t willing to release Quentin’s erection to do it, so he tried to tell him with the stroke of his tongue, the squeeze of his fingers around Quentin’s base, the eagerness with which he suckled him. Nothing was better in the world, nothing tasted better, nothing felt better, nothing made Eliot’s heart beat faster or his body tremble like Quentin’s touch, Quentin’s mouth, Quentin’s lovely, workmanlike little hands, Quentin’s surprisingly thick cock filling his throat.

Everything about him was fucking divine, and all Eliot could do was whine in the back of his throat as Quentin sucked him just right. He strove upward, fighting for a breath through his nose, and struggled to get closer to Quentin, to take more, to have more, to do more somehow. He wanted all of Q, every bit of him, wanted to devour him entirely and take him inside Eliot for safekeeping.

He’d never felt this before, this lost in someone, this overcome with passion, not even tripping on the good stuff, not even psychedelically drunk, and it was, somehow, even more than their last time together had been because this was just theirs. As Quentin had said, they were rewriting everything, revising their history, remaking their world in their image and shrinking it all down to two.

Quentin was generous with how he took Eliot, no longer needing both hands, just one stroking his base as his head bobbed. He spread his legs out over Eliot’s chest, bracing himself but also giving Eliot an amazing view.

Drool pooled at the base of Eliot’s cock, slowly working its way back over his perineum to his opening. Quentin’s fingers chased it, spreading it, infused by lube over those sensitive areas. He didn’t press so much as caress, as if reading Eliot’s opening by touch, memorizing it before a soft finger pressed gently inside of him.

Eliot released Quentin’s cock at last and lay back against the bed, overcome by Quentin’s gentleness as he’d never been by more forceful lovers. There was something unspeakably _good_ about Quentin, some deep kindness in him that Eliot had never encountered in anyone else, and he was so drawn to it, so drunk on it.

“Q,” he whispered, imbuing the word with all the love brimming over, filling his heart and his senses. “Oh, Q.” He spread his legs and tipped up his hips, eager and desperate and so ready he was gasping. “I’ve imagined this an embarrassing number of times.”

Quentin slipped another finger, possibly two, into Eliot, resting his thumb on Eliot’s perineum and giving it a light, luxurious massage that felt incredible with Eliot’s cock down Quentin’s throat and three fingers in him, pressuring his prostate from the other side.

Honestly, that was one of the best things about being fingered by a magician. The magic was good, the autolube was good, but the sheer digital dexterity was off the charts.

Now that Q had gotten more concentrated about being inside Eliot, Quentin started moving back around, curling his back, leaving him sideways over Eliot’s body. He curled up kind of like a cat, attention focused and intense. Eliot just sprawled and shivered, letting Quentin do whatever he wanted with him.

“This is better,” Eliot mumbled after a few moments of lip-biting pleasure. “Better than I imagined. Q, you’re so…” Eliot trailed off, unable to articulate the thick, soft emotion filling him, swelling under his over-sensitive skin. “You’re so good for me, Q. So good. Everything I wanted you to be.”

Clenching around Quentin’s fingers, Eliot writhed, trying to get more and trying to pace himself at the same time. He was so greedy for Quentin, for all of him, but he wanted it to last because they only got one first time doing this. At least, in theory. Eliot felt like he could invent some kind of spell to revisit it if he could just _think_ , but that was impossible with Quentin stretching him open so perfectly and sucking his cock and just crouched there being beautiful with that messy golden-brown hair and his stupidly adorable face and the surprisingly muscular body he kept hidden under all those hoodies.

Quentin pulled back, gently lapping at Eliot’s cock once it was out of his mouth. Rolling around, Quentin settled between Eliot’s legs. He slipped his fingers back inside him, grinning up at Eliot as he wiped his mouth on his shoulder. “This is what you wanted? Wanted me to fuck you? I thought about this a lot, too. Probably thought about every position on every surface in the apartment at one point or another. How do you like it?”

“Were you fantasizing about fucking me while I was innocently sketching comic characters at my desk in the corner?” Eliot grinned, once again scandalized and delighted, and learning quickly that Quentin could bring out that reaction in him like no one else ever had. _“Quentin!”_

He reached down to shove Quentin’s shoulder playfully and then rocked his hips, pushing onto Quentin’s fingertips encouragingly. “I like it every filthy, depraved, gorgeous way, but I think tonight… I just want you to take care of me. I’ve been pampering you for a week and a half—not that you realized it—and tonight I want to reap the rewards.”

“But it’s Christmas Eve. Shouldn’t I make you wait until morning?” Quentin bit his lip and shifted his hand, getting Eliot from another angle, almost surprising. He did have enough decency to blush and avert his gaze.

“Admittedly, most of the fantasies happened while you _weren’t_ there. I feel like even at your most focused, you’d notice me masturbating in my own corner.” Then he laughed and bent down, leaning in as he pushed Eliot’s legs back and apart.

“Pampered, you said?” He lowered his face and his tongue swirled around Eliot’s opening.

“Oh my god, you filthy slut,” Eliot blurted, startled, so overly excited he actually giggled. He reached down to hold his own legs though, keeping them spread and out of Quentin’s way. “How did I ever think you’re straight, Q? I mean, aside from the fashion sense. You are such a giant queer.”

There were more words on the tip of his tongue, but then Quentin licked him just right and made his toes curl and his brain short out. Eliot raked his teeth over his bottom lip and sighed, melting completely.

“Oh my fuck, I love you, Q. You are just… You are everything. Everything. I’m so fucking hard for you.”

It felt a little like Quentin was blowing raspberries on Eliot’s ass, which wasn’t unpleasant but a little strange. When he looked down, Quentin was giggling while he was trying to keep licking Eliot’s ass.

When their gazes met, Quentin stopped licking and beamed up at Eliot. “I mean, your dick in my mouth wasn’t a hint that I might be a big queer? And leave my hoodies alone!”

Quentin crawled up Eliot’s body and kissed him and then nuzzled his face. “I’m your filthy slut now. You’re just going to have to deal with it. But in my defense, that’s the first time I’ve done that.”

“Well, it won’t be the last time, but I’m going to have to insist you quit giggling into my butthole,” Eliot responded drily. He smiled though, feeling like an idiot, and wrapped his arms and legs around Quentin like a horny octopus. Laughing again, he nuzzled into Quentin’s throat and nibbled along his jaw, so full of joy he could hardly contain himself.

“I didn’t know you’d be so scandalized! I figured you liked it since you did it to me. And you wanted to be pampered, and I felt very pampered when you did it.” Quentin’s face was so red, and he was so flustered, and it was adorable. So yes, he had some experience, but he was still Quentin. “Okay. I have to get serious. I’m going to fuck you, and this is a solemn affair.”

Quentin tried to make a serious face and then started to laugh again.

“No, really. Okay.” Quentin bit his bottom lip and took a deep breath. He reached down between them to line himself up with Eliot. “Are you ready?”

“So ready,” Eliot purred, grinning up at Quentin and anchoring his heels on the backs of Quentin’s thighs, like Q needed encouragement or something. Like he could even resist. Eliot tipped up his hips into the pressure of Quentin’s cock and licked his lips, trembling with excitement. “Just fuck me, Quentin.”

But that was just Quentin, wasn’t it? Always careful, checking in, trying to be mindful.

He took another deep breath and then the pressure built until the blunt head of Quentin speared Eliot, widening him satisfyingly around his girth. God, it felt good.

The expression on Quentin’s face was so soft. A little strained from effort, but sweet in the smile and the haze that seemed to overtake him as lust settled in. He kissed Eliot as he inched his way inside and then pulled back to slide in again, moaning into the increasingly sloppy kiss.

And as magnificent as it felt physically—just really, _really_ good—what really got Eliot was that he’d put that dopey look on Quentin’s face, that he’d made Quentin’s kisses go all clumsy and precious and messy. Quentin was somehow, amazingly, _in love_ with Eliot, and Eliot basked in it fully as he kissed Quentin back and arched up to meet his thrusts.

“This is all I want in the fucking world,” Eliot whispered against Quentin’s mouth. “Just us, just you. You’re incredible, Q. Feels so right. Just take me, sweetheart. I want you so much.”

Quentin braced himself, getting his knees and arms planted as he started to move in earnest, building a steady rhythm as he shifted his hips, moving until he hit Eliot in such a way that his eyes rolled back, and then Quentin had his focus.

Q bit his lip as sweat beaded on his brow from his effort, moving more forcefully than Eliot might’ve imagined, but so perfectly that it stole Eliot’s breath. Quentin kept staring down at him, as if he needed to see Eliot, to know this was him. After so long, Eliot couldn’t blame him.

Plus, it made Eliot feel so sexy and seen. Not like a hookup who was necessary to get off. Not like someone wanted him for the night or a few nights.

That intense stare was filled with so much adoration that it threatened to undo Eliot entirely.

Had anyone _ever_ looked at him like Quentin was looking at him now? Like Eliot was the center of the universe. Like Eliot was the best thing he’d ever seen.

One would think maybe some goofy puppy love as a teenager or something, but Eliot never had that. He wasn’t that boy. He wasn’t that lucky…until now.

Tears threatened, and Eliot choked them back ruthlessly as he rocked into Quentin’s thrusts, taking Quentin’s cock like he’d die without it, groaning at the stretch, the amazing sense of being full of someone who really belonged to him, the only person he’d ever really felt he could have this _with_.

Suddenly it was too much, and Eliot mumbled, “Wait, wait. Just—”

He released Quentin and pushed him back just enough to slip free, and then Eliot rolled over onto his belly and stretched out again, his legs spread around Quentin’s knees and his ass offered up like a sacrifice on an altar. He reached back and caught Quentin’s hand, pulling him close again, pulling Quentin down on top of him.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” Eliot whispered, voice ragged with emotion as he arched under Quentin’s weight, pushing up into him, writhing and grasping at the sheets as he rutted against the bed. “Give it to me, Q. Need you so much. Need you, need you. C’mon, baby Q.”

It felt in some ways less like Quentin thrust into him as he simply melted, the connection so intense as he spread out over Eliot, covering him as best he could. He stretched out his arms over Eliot’s and twined their fingers together and pulled them in so he could balance and hold Eliot at the same time.

Yes, Quentin was fucking him, his thrusts were thrilling, and he again shifted carefully to get just where Eliot needed him. But more than that, Eliot felt made love to. Like each movement was suffused with care and longing.

Quentin kissed Eliot’s nape and his shoulders as he built up speed, taking Eliot with more passion, their bodies colliding with need but still Quentin held Eliot’s hands, loving and sweet. Eliot struggled with the emotions building and cresting inside him, the new, raw sense of being vulnerable with someone, of letting Quentin see how much Eliot needed him, how much Eliot loved him. It was almost too much to bear.

“Tell me, Q,” Eliot pleaded, voice cracking over the nickname as he tightened his fingers on Quentin’s. “Tell me you love me. Tell me it’s real.”

“Oh, El. I love you. I love you so much. So, so much.” Quentin went off into a loving ramble, whispering the words over and over again, right into Eliot’s ear as if it was a secret, a secret just between them. “So in love with you. My true love.”

Breathiness overtook some of Quentin’s words. His body moved desperately, building toward its release. He remained close, so close to Eliot. Holding him, whispering words of love as his brow furrowed with concentration as if he was trying not to come yet, holding out for Eliot to feel it too.

Eliot shivered and rolled his hips, moving between Quentin’s perfect fucking cock and the friction of the bedsheets under him, whimpering low in his throat, helpless to stop, helpless to regain his dignity because everything in him needed this. He pulled Quentin’s arms entirely around himself, clasping Quentin’s hands in his against his chest as he pressed his knees into the springy mattress and bounced, taking Quentin faster and laughing a little, breezy and free and letting go of how he looked or how he sounded or whether this was the best he could do.

All that seemed so unimportant now, background fucking noise, and Eliot just _relaxed_. He just let Quentin be everything and merged into his breathless, joyous dorkiness, the sheer rapture of his first time doing this. It didn’t need to be porn star perfect or impress anyone else. It just needed to be them, and Eliot could just let who he was be enough.

He was _enough_ for Quentin, on bad days and late nights and sleepy mornings. Quentin had seen him in every light, in every mood, and Quentin _loved_ him.

The relentless, wonderful grind of Quentin’s cockhead against Eliot’s sweet spot had him panting as he craned his head back to kiss Quentin, and he murmured, “Almost, almost, almost. So close, baby Q. Just a little more. Don’t stop. Don’t stop, don’t stop.”

More fragile little laughs bubbled out of Eliot. “Oh, Q. Oh my Q. I love you.”

And the pressure that had been building in his balls, in his thighs, behind his stinging eyes, crested and erupted, pulsing through him like a breaking wave sweeping away everything in its path. Eliot gasped with it, clutching at Quentin, clenching around him, bouncing harder, insistent, and finally crying out, “Q, c’mon, Q,” as he spent himself utterly.

Quentin didn’t need more prompting than that. He shouted as he came, growing a little rough as he chased his release, burrowing deeper into Eliot than should’ve been physically possible. He pounded Eliot, making Eliot feel needed and sexy as well as loved. He took exactly what he needed, which gave Eliot more pleasure than he’d thought himself capable of.

Quentin’s breathing was shuddery as he wound down, strokes more languorous until Quentin finally went boneless on Eliot’s back, panting humidly against his sweaty skin. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Eliot murmured, wrung out and gloriously sore. He released his grip on Quentin’s hands only to glide his grip up Quentin’s hairy arms and stretch them out together. He groaned as his body shifted, and then he pulled away to get out of the wet spot he’d left on the sheets, dragging Quentin with him.

Eliot propped himself against the headboard and pulled Q into his arms, feeling both delicate and oddly protective of Quentin. He kissed Quentin’s hair and let Quentin slump exhausted against his chest, glowing inside with wholly unaccustomed contentment.

After a few moments, he managed to tear his gaze away from Quentin to look at the clock. It was just after midnight.

“Hey, Q,” he said, and he could hear the warmth in the words. “Merry Christmas.”

Quentin turned his head lazily to consult the clock and then agreed. “Merry Christmas.”

He turned his head up and kissed Eliot softly and then let out a long, wistful sigh. “And I guess back to work.”

“I guess,” Eliot concurred, smiling a little. “Let’s open a bottle of champagne and gaze longingly—but with immense satisfaction—at each other as we attempt to be responsible and uphold our publishing contract.”

But Eliot didn’t move. And Quentin didn’t move.

Snuggling Quentin tighter, Eliot added, “Tomorrow,” and then performed a cleaning charm on the sheets and his stomach before sliding them both down onto the nest of pillows and pulling the blankets over them.

Yawning, he said, “Get the lights, Q. I’m spoiled.”

“Yeah. It’s Christmas. What do they expect?” Quentin spelled the lights off and snuggled up with Eliot.


	12. Chapter 12

The sound of sleigh bells woke Quentin. The quality of light suggested it was very early Christmas morning. They had largely blown off their deadline but for such a great reason. He couldn’t imagine anyone would argue with them, especially if they came back _engaged._

But he wasn’t going to think too deeply about that in case Eliot chickened out or decided he wasn’t ready. To Quentin, the most important thing was to maintain their progress, not to keep advancing. Marrying Eliot was the dream, but he knew from experience that it was better to let Eliot get there on his own.

Or at least, that had been his observation of people who tried to date Eliot in the past.

All of that ran through his mind before he connected back to the sound that had woken him.

Sleigh bells.

Quentin sat up and threw off the covers. He dashed for his robe, which was not the elegant, dreamy silk that he’d worn the day before but a chunky, soft blue cotton thing very good for drying off and keeping bits covered.

“El! El, wake up! Santa— Nick was here!”

“Wait, what?” El rolled onto his stomach to occupy the warm space Quentin had just abandoned. He pushed his sleepy face into Quentin’s pillow, sucked in a deep breath, and then hugged it. “Why are you awake?”

“Sleigh bells! Santa was here! Come on, we’ve gotta see if he’s still here or what he left! It’s Christmas, El! Nick!” He couldn’t believe he had to explain Santa to Eliot. “I didn’t think he visited adults, but I heard it!”

“What?” El stared at Quentin like Quentin had lost his mind, which Quentin was pretty sure had _not_ happened, this time at least.

El squinted in the dim starlight pouring through the windows and stretched like a big housecat with no concept of _Christmas_.

Desperate, Quentin grabbed Eliot’s hands and pulled him up out of bed. He would fucking _drag_ Eliot if he had to. “El-ee-et! Come ooon. We’ve gotta goooo!”

“Whoa, Q, the fuck?” Eliot groaned and shivered at being drawn out from under the warm blankets naked and made displeased little noises as he found and grabbed his dressing gown. “Okay, Jesus, fine.”

He pulled on his robe and followed Quentin out of the door and down the stairs to the living room with its giant, brightly lit tree.

Everything was twinkling and beautiful, and under the tree was a present Quentin hadn’t seen before. He pounced on it, unwrapped in the fashion that Santa gave gifts. It was an old-fashioned photo album, bound in leather, with a small box of photo corners.

Inside, a small note that read, “For Quentin and Eliot, wishing you many happy memories together.”

Quentin held it up, thrilled. “Eliot! It’s for you too! You didn’t hear the sleigh bells?”

“Um, no. You kind of fucked me into the deepest sleep of my adulthood. I’ve never been so fucking relaxed. And now I’m standing here at ass o’clock wondering what is life.” Eliot frowned as he took the note from Quentin to read it and then went very still.

His frown smoothed slowly into something like wonder, and he asked, “This is from Sant—Nick?”

“Yeah! I told you, it’s not like big, flashy things. I bet your presents to me caught his notice. And sharing the joy with my family. I knew you were kindhearted.” Quentin hopped up and hugged Eliot, squeezing him tightly.

Eliot hugged Quentin back, looking kind of shocked, and whispered, “Santa brought us a present on Christmas.”

“He did! But I understand why he didn’t wake us.” Quentin blushed faintly as he pulled away and then set the photo album on the coffee table. “So I think we should fill this album with pictures and leave it out for Nick next year. I bet he’d like that.”

Still looking overwhelmed, Eliot held out his arms to Quentin like he needed a hug. His lower lip trembled a little, though it was obvious to Quentin he was trying to remain stoical. Eliot never seemed comfortable having feelings, but he was clearly having them right now.

Quentin flung himself at Eliot, wrapping back around him as Eliot rested his chin on Quentin’s head. “Merry Christmas, Eliot. So, um, I also got you a present. Another one? Speaking of making memories and stuff.”

“You got me a present that will assist us in making memories? Is it a magical videocamera to film all our extremely erotic encounters for later perusal? You know, like the coach records the team and then breaks down their performances?” Eliot sounded like he was teasing, but Quentin couldn’t see his face, and that _did_ seem like something Eliot might actually do.

“Um. No. Maybe next year. I didn’t know this was going to happen, so… that wasn’t my first thought.” Quentin cleared his throat. “Do you have concerns about my performance?”

Eliot literally purred and wrapped himself tighter around Quentin before bending him back over Eliot’s arm, dipping him and gazing down at him before going in for the kiss, his aquiline face lit up with red and green and blue and gold from the tree’s lights, the colors reflecting in his eyes. Then his mouth was on Quentin’s, and Quentin could only cling and kiss back as Eliot’s tongue swept into his mouth, sleep-stale and perfect.

When Quentin was thoroughly ravished and swooning, Eliot finally righted them and shook his head, gaze glittering darkly as he looked into Quentin’s eyes. “Honestly I just want to be able to see how hot we look together, Fogg. There’s no complaints.” Dropping his voice to a low rasp, Eliot whispered, “I can still feel you inside me.”

Then he kissed Quentin’s forehead and turned to sit on the couch. Patting his lap, he gave Quentin an expectant look. “Gift me, boyfriend.”

“Okay.” Quentin went to the tree and pulled out a fancy little rectangular box, wrapped in white and gold. He sat down on Eliot’s lap and watched him unwrap it to reveal a large, very old-fashioned golden key. Inside the box read, “The Quest of the Seven Golden Keys: A Whisky Adventure.”

Quentin bit his lip and watched Eliot’s face.

“A Whisky Adventure,” Eliot read aloud, both brows inching toward his hairline. He looked up from the box to meet Quentin’s gaze and tipped his head to the side, considering. “You are sending me on a quest for booze. Well, fuck. It’s almost like you know me or something.”

He smiled, a little at a time, and then leaned in to kiss Quentin softly. “Thank you,” he whispered against his lips. Then he pulled back and shrugged a little. “Is it an adventure for two?”

“Yeah. It’s a plus one. There are seven keys, and they work as portals to take you and a friend to seven of the best bars in the world where you are served a flight of the best whiskeys in that region. In each one you pick your favorite from the flight, and it develops the next key. So each trip you take refines the experience so that the flights are each matched to your particular taste, and at the end you win bottles of your favorite of the lot.”

Quentin pushed his hair back behind his ear, only now realizing his hair was probably everywhere since hopping up from a dead sleep. “It can be adapted for regular travel with planes and stuff in case you wanted to take someone who wasn’t magical, but I did kinda hope you’d bring me. Though I admittedly don’t know much about whisky.”

Eliot, appearing completely delighted, pecked Quentin’s cheek right at the corner of his mouth and let out a gleeful sound very like a girlish squeal. “That is the best thing I’ve _ever_ heard of.” He set the gift delicately aside on the couch and then snuggled Quentin in obvious excitement before asking, “When do we leave?”

“Whenever you want to. You can do the quest at your own pace mostly. They’ll make suggestions for time differences and stuff, but basically you just hold the key, say ‘ _Whisky Quest Go!’_ and you’re off.” Quentin put his hand over the box. “But we owe pages, and you owe me twelve drummers drumming.”

Eliot’s excitement changed tenor. He looked nervous, almost shy, and nodded slowly. “I do owe you twelve drummers drumming.”

He looked around then, brow furrowed. “What time is it anyway, Q? Besides ass o’clock.”

“Um… looks like almost six,” Quentin said after consulting the clock on the mantle. “I could make some coffee, we could knock out those pages, or try to like we were supposed to last night. You know, if you want. Or nap.”

“Mm, coffee.” Eliot gave Quentin’s ass a squeeze and whispered, “I’m too excited to sleep. Let’s go get dressed for our drummers drumming, and then we’ll knock out the work.” He widened his eyes almost comically, long lashes casting shadows like a drag queen’s falsies in the electric holiday lights. “Do you want a hint as to what you should wear? Then you can overthink it for the next four hours.”

“I’m calling Nick to tell him to take your present back. Mean. You’re mean, Eliot.” Quentin laughed as he got off Eliot’s lap and kissed the top of his head. He started for the kitchen to make coffee. “So what should I wear for drummers drumming?”

Eliot trailed behind Quentin, the neckline of his silk dressing gown drooping, revealing most of a shoulder and a smattering of dark chest hair. “Personally I’m going to look like a less homophobic Coachella,” he volunteered, arching a brow. “Just super gay, festival chic, skimpy and sassy. Think booty shorts. Think glitter.”

As Quentin fussed with the coffee supplies, Eliot added, “Will you make mine a cappuccino? Thanks, Q.” He made a smoochy face at him, like if he thanked him and blew kisses, Quentin couldn’t tell him to make his own.

“Yeah, all right. But only because you’re cute.” Quentin started to make a cappuccino or what he thought he was supposed to do to make a cappuccino. There was a machine; he could make it happen. “Well, I guess if that’s the case, I’ll put on a t-shirt and jeans.”

Eliot’s gasp of protest was entirely predictable, as was the way he walked up behind Quentin, as if he could will Quentin into dressing sassier through proximity to Eliot’s fabulousness. Then, less predictably, he slipped his arms around Quentin’s waist and leaned in to press their cheeks together. Eliot’s short beard rubbed and caught against Quentin’s stubble like Velcro.

“Will you wear something cute? For me? We’re going to be making memories, right? This is—” Eliot swallowed audibly, his nervousness back, and he shrugged one shoulder, chest pressing against Quentin’s back. “This is the first photo op for our debut entry into Nick’s album. Let’s make him proud.”

Eliot’s hand slipped lower, caressing Quentin’s crotch through the flimsy robe, like he could outright sexually manipulate Quentin into compliance. He’d always been plenty persuasive where Quentin was concerned, but Quentin had not really given thought to the bold new avenues available to El at this point.

Quentin moaned, resting against Eliot as the coffee worked on itself. He exhaled and then chuckled. “El, I don’t even own booty shorts or glitter. I don’t think that’s anything anyone’s ever wanted to see me in. Don’t people wear t-shirts and jeans to Coachella? Oh, you’re not going to try to make me wear an Indian headdress, are you? Those are racist, El.”

“What? No!” Eliot protested, seeming offended Quentin would even imagine it of him. Eliot _had_ gone to art school, though, so ostensibly he knew a little about social justice. Quentin just liked to tease him.

Recovering from that assault on his wokeness, El squeezed Quentin’s cock again and rubbed his nose along Quentin’s jaw. “You never finished exploring the fifth day gift. There was all kind of sexiness in that dressing room. Risqué underwear, clubwear, sheer crop tops, a fringed leather jacket, assless chaps… It wasn’t all bespoke suits. As if I’d ever be so dull.”

“In fairness, I thought it was from _Penny_ at the time, and the rings made me nervous.” Quentin thought back to that moment with the scarves and how he’d been kind of disappointed but also a little optimistic. “Which… reminds me that there are _rings_ in there, too. I don’t know about… sheer crop tops. Or assless chaps. Not with the drummers watching. I don’t even _know_ them.”

Eliot sighed and slipped his hand between the flaps of Quentin’s robe, caressing him skin on skin between his thighs and raking his blunt nails over the sensitive skin. He nibbled along Quentin’s ear and whispered, “Talk more about the sheer crop tops and assless chaps and less about the rings. I haven’t had my coffee yet.”

“I didn’t say no to the fringed leather jacket. I guess I could wear a sheer crop top _under_ that. Or no shirt. No shirt?” Quentin whimpered at Eliot’s touch. He was truly lost on what he was supposed to be doing. Something about frothing milk, but he wasn’t entirely sure how to do that.

The espresso was made anyway. He turned his face and kissed Eliot. “Maybe I need more coffee before talking about assless chaps?”

Groaning, Eliot kissed Quentin back and then pulled away and pouted. “Coffee then. Step aside, Fogg.”

Eliot took the espresso, the milk, and the cappuccino mug and demonstrated to an aroused, groggy Quentin how to froth the milk and successfully produce the drink. Then he passed Quentin the cappuccino and proceeded to make a second for himself. When that was finished, Eliot took a plate down from the cabinet, heaped some cold cinnamon rolls on it, and then led the way upstairs while Quentin tried both to carry his coffee and keep his robe closed over his partial erection.

Instead of heading for El’s bedroom, which housed the gifts instead of El, who appeared to have moved into Quentin’s room for the duration, El settled at his easel, turned on the lamp, and motioned to Quentin to pull up a chair and sit close by. He chose a blank sheet of heavy sketching paper and started drawing, occasionally sipping his cappuccino as Quentin watched him work.

As the drawing took shape, it became apparent it had nothing to do with _A Flock of Lost Birds_. Instead, Eliot was sketching himself, a little stylized in the way of fashion designers’ portraits, all angular and elegant. He drew a cropped vest with spangles, short shorts, and dramatic thigh-high boots, all topped off with chunky bracelets and an impressive infinity scarf.

It was, Quentin thought, probably the gayest thing he’d ever seen. Peak festival gay.

Then, after another sip of cappuccino, Eliot started drawing a shorter figure holding hands with the El sketch, and he provided more detail to show their fingers intertwined. It warmed Quentin’s heart. Then El proceeded to dress doodle Quentin in low-slung skinny jeans with holes in them, a slender belt with an enormous, gaudy buckle, and the previously mentioned fringed leather jacket. As Quentin watched, Eliot added more little touches: braids framing Quentin’s face, some kind of headband, a long pendant necklace, and then, making Quentin’s heart pound, Eliot drew in a tiny ring on his ring finger.

All without saying a word. When Eliot was finished, he sat sipping his cappuccino and watching Quentin in the brightening sunshine pouring through the skylight above.

“Braids, huh?” Quentin put his index finger gently on the little ring and then leaned over and kissed Eliot, pulse racing. “Maybe you need one, too. Or are we just letting the cock ring be implied?”

He bit his bottom lip and then nuzzled Eliot’s face, feeling strangely shy about it now that the ring might be an actual real thing. “What if instead of braids I had little buns on top of my head? Like, two of them. Up here.”

Quentin held his fists up on the top of his head. “And I do have a feather boa.”

“You have,” Eliot started, narrowing his gaze on Quentin even as he grinned, “the most atrocious sense of fashion. But by all means, Q. Just remember, there _will_ be pictures.”

Then, as if Eliot hadn’t started all this, he took down the sketch, and Quentin had to claim it before El could do something awful like throw it away. Eliot’s eyes went soft, though, when Quentin took it and held it like something precious, and he leaned over to brush a quick kiss over Quentin’s lips before returning his attention to the easel and starting to work on actual panels for the deadline.

“Braids are more fashionable?” Quentin didn’t know. He thought space buns would be fun, but he supposed he didn’t care that much if it made Eliot happy. He loved Eliot’s little illustration. “So all of this stuff is in the closet? Should I go get it and get dressed?”

“The buns are fine. The boa is not. Stick to the draped, elegant necklace. It’ll elongate your frame. Feather boas are a common mistake among the petite camp crowd; they make one look soft and round. While you are a very soft boi, you’re going to look badass. This is for posterity, Q. Try to take it seriously.” Eliot looked over, gave him an eye-smile, and then resumed sipping his cappuccino as he sketched out the line art for Sam’s big cliffhanger. “Everything you need to be as magnificent outside as you are on the inside is in the dressing room. Go knock yourself out.”

After a beat, as Quentin started to walk away clutching his art, Eliot added without looking up, “And do pick out a ring. Don’t put it on; just stow it and bring it to me. Make sure it’s really your favorite. You’ll be wearing it a lot. I’m a gentleman, and you are, like your hero Beyoncé, an independent woman, so I’ve given you options.”

“But kind of a kept woman, Daddy dressing me.” Quentin laughed and headed into El’s room. Touching the appropriate model, he found himself in the dressing room.

It took him a few minutes to find the secret places where the naughtier clothes were hidden.

Yeah, if he’d seen these… he might not have thought it was Penny. Or… maybe he’d think Penny was making fun of him, which was always a popular option. Their relationship had been terrible in retrospect. Enemies to lovers was often a lot less sexy in practice than in premise.

But it had been fun, and he’d felt sufficiently accomplished to not have a panic attack approaching Eliot for sex, so Penny had served his purpose, maybe. And it never hurt to be friendly with a Traveler.

There were several big belt buckles to choose from. The one Quentin gravitated toward was in the shape of two rams’ heads which was no doubt going to shorten his trunk, or whatever Eliot was talking about, but he liked it. Very Fillorian.

He found a necklace with a golden bee that reminded him of Brakebills and then put on the rather tight low-slung jeans that worried him a little. It seemed like they’d either roll off due to lack of ass or strangle his dick. But it was fashion, so he went with it.

Then he braided his hair and put on a headband which he thought looked a little weird, but whatever, he’d pretend it was a crown maybe. Then he pulled out the soft, fringed jacket, sliding it on and whirling around.

Which, if he was honest, did make him feel a little like Beyoncé.

But now it was time to get serious. He had to pick out a ring. He assumed that Eliot wouldn’t have given him any choices that he didn’t like. Even at the time, Quentin had gravitated toward the white gold with black opal. He imagined that was what Eliot thought he’d choose.

He tried it on his hand and looked at it to make sure it was really the one he liked best, then gently pulled it off and tried to figure out where to put it. The jeans barely had pockets, but the lining in the jacket had a couple of pockets in the lining. Quentin hid that ring and the cock ring in his pockets and then headed out, trying not to let his nerves get the better of him.

He wasn’t the one proposing. Eliot was. Why was _he_ so nervous?

Perhaps because it was really going to happen. In some ways, it felt sudden and out of nowhere. In others, well, they’d practically already been living together. It could almost be a really long engagement and the new addition of sex… if they were an old-fashioned couple, they might’ve waited until marriage.

The idea made Quentin laugh nervously, and was he laughing weird? Was he being weird? “Just be a person. Be a person. You can do this,” Quentin said to himself as Eliot’s room appeared.

He stepped barefoot into the landing. “You didn’t draw shoes, so… I wasn’t sure if that was on purpose. I have some um… sneakers?”

Eliot glanced up and smiled, his expression mischievous and sweet. “Sneakers will do. Very you.” He ran his gaze over Quentin head to toe and back up. “You look good. Really good. Good enough to eat. Your ass. Good enough that I want to eat your ass. Possibly after we polish off these cinnamon rolls. Cappuccino is not a complete breakfast.”

Neither were cinnamon rolls, but that kind of logic never really worked on El. He probably believed coffee plus sugary carbs was a proper meal.

“I feel like I look like a crazy person, but I’m glad you like it.” Quentin looked down at his belt buckle that did little to conceal his treasure trail, and it was all vaguely embarrassing. “Look, rams.”

Quentin held up his belt buckle to show it off as if Eliot hadn’t picked it out. “So just for casual interest or advice to a friend, how do you bend over in these jeans without them falling off? Because I’m not really sure how to put shoes on right now.”

Eliot smirked. “I’ll put them on for you, baby Q. _When it’s time._ Just let me finish this line art, and we’ll be all caught up.” He gestured at the plate of rolls. “Eat something, and finish your goddamn cappuccino. You’re vibrating on the wrong frequency for my creativity to flourish.” 

Eliot had obviously already eaten some of the cinnamon rolls because he had a little bit of cream cheese frosting in his black beard. His mug of cappuccino was empty, too. Quentin had clearly taken longer getting dressed than he realized.

Probably half of that was looking at the rings and contemplating life lived in ball-crushing trousers.

Quentin drank the rest of his cappuccino even though it was kinda cold. He leaned in and kissed away the cream cheese frosting from Eliot’s beard and lips. “Okay. I’ll make you another cappuccino since I can’t sit, apparently. I don’t know if eating is advisable either.”

He looked over his shoulder when he turned around, eyeing Eliot. “They kinda don’t fit. You can see my buttcrack.”

“Hold up the jacket hem,” Eliot instructed with a flippant, commanding gesture. His whole focus was on Quentin now, like he’d forgotten entirely about what he was supposed to be doing.

Quentin blushed, feeling weird about it even though Eliot had seen way more than that at this point. “Um, yeah, okay. Um…”

He pulled the hem up, but just a little, inching slowly up as Eliot gestured to him to keep going until he felt like he had the hem up to his shoulders.

A slow, dirty smile spread over Eliot’s face and he waggled his eyebrows at Quentin approvingly. “They fit _perfectly_. Look at that butt. It’s so perky and squeezable. Do you have any idea how hard it was pretending to be platonic about that ass? Honestly, Q, forget awards for my art… I deserved a Tony.”

Before Quentin could grok what was happening, Eliot was on his feet and then he was all but kneeling, big hands on Quentin’s hips and his teeth sinking into the top of Quentin’s ass like that was a thing people did to their boyfriends all the time.

Quentin squeaked and then laughed at the strange ticklish feeling and then groaned as his cock took interest and really had nowhere to go. “Ow, El. I’m going to have a situation with the tip of my cock coming out of these, you know. You really think I have a nice ass? I always thought it was flat and disappointing.”

“It’s just fun-sized, like you.” Eliot mumbled it into Quentin’s skin and then sucked on the bitemark like he was trying to leave a very incriminating bruise.

“El!” Quentin squirmed, not sure what to do with himself. His hands were still occupied in holding his jacket and Eliot was giving him a lovemark. “What about pictures? I don’t think a documentary about my hickeys is what Nick is expecting!”

Eliot dissolved into chuckles and straightened, pulling Quentin’s hands away from his jacket to twine them with his own. Then he wrapped Quentin up in both their arms and hugged him from behind, his head bent to rest beside Quentin’s. Then he kissed Quentin’s eyebrow. “Nick won’t mind. He knew I was a bad kid when he gave us the album.”

After another laugh and a kiss on the lips, Eliot returned to his art. “Just a few minutes, Q. I need to finish this before the gift-bearers arrive bearing gifts.” He made a shooing gesture. “Your butt is very distracting. Away with you. More coffee for Daddy, Sasha Fierce.”

“Yeah, Henry will probably be home soon.” Quentin smirked. It wasn’t the first time that Eliot had referred to himself as Daddy, but in this house, it could be confusing.

Quentin half skipped down the stairs trying to adjust himself in his pants, so he wasn’t completely obscene in the off-chance Henry did come home soon. He might. It _was_ Christmas. Then again, he had given his blessing to Eliot and would probably call ahead.

Quentin set the coffee to brewing and mashed up some avocado to put on toast. He took a fresh cappuccino and avocado toast up to Eliot and then ran back down to eat his own before he could distract Eliot too much.

Leaning against the counter seemed to be the best way to kind of rest without losing his pants. It felt peculiar not wearing underwear, but he really didn’t see how he could. The whole thing did make him feel like the dirty slut that Eliot had accused him of being. Not necessarily in a bad way, but it definitely wasn’t how he’d ever seen himself.

This was the sort of thing sex bombs wore. The one guys in the club would stare at. The kind Penny would make fun of but ultimately couldn’t tear his gaze from.

This wouldn’t be his new look. Quentin would eventually need to sit down day to day, but it was kind of fun to know it was something he could pull out and distract Eliot with. On his own, he’d feel like a total asshole dressed this way. Which was accurate in that he was pretty sure, if he bent over, that would be exactly the part of him everyone would see.

The doorbell rang, and it was bittersweet knowing this would be the last day of surprises. He picked up a few of the cinnamon rolls, set them on a tray, and cast a quick spell so the frosting was all warm and gooey again. It wasn’t much, but these people came out on Christmas.

Not that everyone celebrated Christmas, but still.

He’d started hobbling to the door when Eliot showed up dressed in very little, which Quentin definitely saw the appeal of. Eliot could pull that kind of thing off. His boots were platforms, so he was even taller than usual, which made Quentin wonder if he was going to really climb Eliot like a tree.

Also, how was that fair? The last thing Eliot needed was more height. Quentin could’ve used that.

But as he looked at the shoes, Quentin was pretty sure he had enough trouble walking in sneakers.

Eliot squatted in front of Quentin while Quentin clutched the wall with one hand, balancing the tray of cinnamon rolls in the other while Eliot put his shoes on like Quentin was five.

“You look really amazing, El. If I could bend over, I’d bite your ass. Then again, I may not have to. Your ass may be eye-level when you’re back up here.”

Laughing, Eliot finished tying Quentin’s shoe and then stood and leaned in for a kiss. It was brief, almost chaste, and then Eliot ushered Quentin toward the door. When Quentin opened it, the singer and the gift-bearer smiled at him.

“Merry Christmas!” they said in unison, perfect white smiles growing.

“Merry Christmas! Thank you, guys, for coming out every day. It’s been a real adventure and a journey and thanks for sharing this with me. Us.” Quentin turned and grinned up, way up, at Eliot and then offered the plate of cinnamon rolls. “Help yourselves.”

“That’s so sweet,” the singer said, taking a roll and giving it a pleased sniff. “But first, we have to sing the song. Why don’t you sing with me?”

Then she launched into the full version of the song for the first and last time. _“On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…twelve drummers drumming…”_

The gift bearer’s hands were full, so he didn’t reach for a cinnamon roll, but he gazed at them longingly as Eliot sang along with the woman. The portal he held looked like a clearing in the midst of an orchard, the tiny trees perfectly wrought in miniature. It even _smelled_ like a forest clearing, the bright green scent teasing Quentin’s nose beyond the aroma of cinnamon and coffee.

There was no door visible, but there _was_ a pathway of sorts, beginning with a little pergola that wound into an archway of trees, their tops all woven together in a beautiful arbor. As Quentin stared, he thought he got it.

He handed the tray to the woman and gestured that the gift bearer could help himself and then stepped into the scene, finding it grew around him. He heard drums and waited for Eliot to join him before he started walking through the arbor.

Eliot trailed behind Quentin still humming the song and reached out to take Quentin’s hand as they strode toward the sound of the drumming. It grew louder as they meandered beneath the emerald canopy, and the air smelled like early fall. As Quentin looked around, he realized it was a stonefruit orchard, the trees growing in neat rows and heavy with fruit. Peaches and plums.

They emerged from the arbor into the clearing where a drum circle held sway. A dozen people of different races, genders, and ages hammered away with their hands at the drums braced between their knees or on their laps. They were all dressed much like Quentin and Eliot were, festival fabulous, but if this was early autumn, and these were real people—they _looked_ like real people—then Quentin had no idea where they were.

This wasn’t like the pocket dimensions inhabited only by animals or the enchanted approximations thereof. It must exist _somewhere_ for other people to be there. But nowhere on earth was having this season.

Before Quentin could overthink it, Eliot dragged him into his arms and started dancing with him to the pounding rhythm. Eliot’s big hands skimmed over Quentin’s body, which felt very exposed in this outfit, and the way he shimmied only emphasized Eliot’s own lack of clothing with his spangled vest leaving his arms and belly and most of his chest bare and his tiny shorts displaying pale thighs down to the tops of Eliot’s obnoxiously tall boots.

It wasn’t even like the drummers were ignoring them. They were definitely aware Quentin and Eliot were there. Not that they were paying much attention, at least. They seemed engrossed in the way they built on each other’s rhythms.

That in itself could possibly be a spell to maintain this place, a part of magic that Quentin found interesting but didn’t have enough coordination to explore. Not that any of it really mattered when he had Eliot right there grinding against him and eyefucking him. It didn’t take long before everything else faded to the background but the places where they touched.

Quentin danced freely, or as freely as he could considering the pants, but he found them loosening a little, allowing more give but also making them feel a little more dangerous. Not that anyone would probably care if his pants fell off. These didn’t seem like people who would be scandalized by naked dancing.

Freed from his preoccupation with his pants, Quentin bounced around Eliot, dancing and rubbing against him, letting the rhythm overrule his anxieties. If it turned out that he was going to rock out with his cock out, well it was Christmas. Which didn’t make any kind of damn sense, but Quentin wasn’t going to think too hard about it.

After all, as he danced, the rings in his pocket beat against his chest, reminding him that Eliot was going to propose and that they were going to be _officially_ a couple; that was worth dancing around in excitement over.

How he’d managed to ensnare such a beautiful and talented creature as Eliot was forever going to remain a mystery to Quentin. He wasn’t going to question it, just enjoy that he had him and enjoy the physicality of the moment and the way that his fringe flicked and danced with him as he bounced and spun, moving in and out of Eliot’s orbit.

Eliot’s own dancing was considerably slinkier. Sultry and sensual in the way El always was, everything languid but tinged with sex like Eliot couldn’t even help radiating _fuck me_ vibes. It had always driven Quentin crazy when they were just friends—trying to deal with the sheer seduction that was Eliot Waugh—but now that Quentin could touch, now that he knew Eliot _wanted_ him to touch, it was something both less and more dangerous.

As Quentin darted in close, Eliot swayed into him and slipped a finger into Quentin’s belt loop, tugging him in for a lazy, lusty undulation, their pelvises colliding and their arms hanging from each other’s shoulders. Eliot leaned in for a kiss like he couldn’t resist Quentin, smiling against his lips as they breathed each other’s gasping, ragged breath.

“The drummers are drumming,” Eliot said loudly to be heard over the beat. “There’s twelve of them. Merry fucking Christmas, Quentin Fogg. If all this hasn’t been the best Christmas gift you ever got, what am I even doing with my life.” Eliot laughed, self-deprecating. “That was a bald-faced plea for affirmation, Q. I’m going to need it for what comes next.”

“This has been the best. _You’re_ the best.” Quentin wrapped his arms around Eliot and ground against him, getting the hang of the sultrier dance when Eliot had hold of his hips and showed him how to move.

Now that he knew how to do it, he shifted his hips just so, enjoying the way it made Eliot bite his bottom lip. It was a strange new power, and Quentin loved it.

He stroked Eliot’s chest as they danced, reaching out to just touch him because he could. “You are so fucking sexy, Eliot. I love you so much. You teach me new things about myself, things I didn’t know I was capable of. It’s been… a really incredible twelve days. I couldn’t let myself believe you were behind it because…”

Quentin sighed as he averted his gaze but kept touching Eliot and moving against him. “I couldn’t believe you’d feel that way about me. And if it wasn’t you, I’d have been crushed. This is all beyond my wildest fantasies, El. I thought, at best, maybe someday you’d pityfuck me.”

“Why the fuck would I pity you? Fuck you, yes. Pity?” Eliot seemed mindblown by that. He grabbed Quentin by the ass, one hand on either cheek, and lowered his head to bite Quentin’s throat. It provoked an undignified squeak, and Eliot didn’t speak again until he was done leaving a bruise where Quentin’s neck met his shoulder.

Then El lifted his head again and looked into Quentin’s eyes. “Your family loves you. Your friends love you. You’re gorgeous. You’re a little awkward, and yeah, I thought you were straight for an embarrassingly long time, but I’ve never just thought, ‘Oh, poor Quentin, he really needs to catch a dick right now. I’ll volunteer as tribute if no one else is going to. It’s what friends do.’”

Laughing, Eliot wrapped his arms around Quentin’s shoulders and gazed at him as they swayed and touched, everything considerably dirtier than Quentin was accustomed to while dancing. “I’ve been lusting after you since we met, Q. I don’t know how you missed it what with all the times I offered to seduce you or just blatantly ogled you, but you’ve gotta trust me on this one… I thought the best I’d ever get was piquing your curiosity and getting a half-drunken experimental fumble out of you. And I’d have taken it. So this is really both of our non-fantasies-because-we-were-too-dumbass-to-dream-this coming true.”

Eliot’s smile was so happy, gleaming with such pure joy, and he laughed again like he just couldn’t contain it, but he seemed nervous too.

“I just thought you were trying to help big me up.” Quentin touched the side of Eliot’s face. “I hoped sometimes, but I’d always talk myself out of it. I’m my own worst enemy.”

It was nice to be able to confess these things and to feel like he wasn’t alone in his admiration. “I’m glad you broke the stalemate. I’m really glad we’ve had this and that this is just the start for us. You bring out the best in me.”

Eliot’s happy smile turned into something delicate, rare, and he took a deep breath as he stopped dancing. “Did you choose a ring?” he asked, voice barely audible over the drumming.

Quentin nodded, mouth suddenly dry. His pulse raced. Was this really going to happen? He fished the regular-sized white gold ring out of his pocket, and then the second one, the cockring, and put them both on his palm, grinning wolfishly.

Eliot rolled his eyes, but he seemed amused, so that was good at least. It relieved a little of the tension.

With a neat, precise gesture, Eliot took the engagement ring out of Quentin’s hand and then offered his elbow to Quentin, plainly intending to escort him somewhere quieter. Quentin took it and walked with him. His pulse pounded so hard he could feel it in his ears.

Was this really going to happen? Obviously being engaged was not the same as getting married, and they weren’t going to necessarily be in a rush for that, but the commitment! The fact that Eliot had choices and was choosing Quentin. It made him lightheaded.

They strolled out into the orchard, unhurried, with the drums growing more distant and the scent of sun-warmed grass and ripe fruit filling their senses. Eliot kept smiling at Quentin from the corner of Quentin’s eye, and all Quentin could do was focus on where he was walking so he didn’t run into a tree. Finally Eliot stopped in the shade of a massive peach tree, and when Quentin actually processed what he was looking at, he realized that in its huge branches, situated right above Quentin’s head, was a wooden platform with a little rope ladder leading up to it.

Eliot motioned for Quentin to ascend the ladder. “After you, handsome.”

“You’re just trying to see my ass, aren’t you? You could’ve just asked.” Quentin looked over his shoulder at Eliot and then slowly made his way up the rope ladder, surprised when he reached the top without his ass escaping.

Up on the platform were pillows and blankets. A perfect place to be cozy, which to Quentin’s mind meant maybe not wearing uncomfortable pants. It was hard to imagine Eliot objecting to nudity so Quentin slipped out of his shoes and shrugged off his jacket. As Eliot made his way up, Quentin was unfastening his pants.

 _“Quentin,”_ Eliot murmured, giving him a heavy-lidded once-over when his head cleared the platform. “Naughty, naughty.”

Eliot climbed up next to Quentin and then all but tackled him back onto the pillows. Instead of a lusty kiss, though, Quentin was on the receiving end of a full body snuggle. Eliot pressed his lips to Quentin’s forehead and stayed there, just close, just sweet.

“What?” Quentin asked. “I assume you want to get comfortable up here, and if you’re going to be all sexy, then I am going to need more ball space.”

Also, he wasn’t entirely sure how he would sit down with the pants on, but Eliot had pretty much answered that with a tackle, which left Quentin’s pants undone but still on.

He wrapped his arms around Eliot, happy to smell his distinctive scent. They’d been dancing and sweaty, so it was pure Eliot.

Quentin clung, smiling and contented to be wrapped up in him. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Eliot mumbled, lips moving against Quentin’s brow. Eliot seemed happy just to lay there sprawled on Quentin, holding him, the bare skin of their bellies and chests touching.

After a few long, peaceful moments, Eliot shifted off Quentin and knelt, gazing down at him, dappled with sunshine sifting through the leaves overhead. Golden light sparkled in his hazel eyes, and Quentin could only stare at Eliot and wait for him to say whatever he was going to say.

The silence weighed heavy on them, interrupted only by the breeze through the branches, the quiet creak of the wooden platform under them.

Then Eliot tilted his head to the side, studying Quentin intently. A black curl fell across his forehead. “Q, I’ve always thought we’re the perfect team. I’ve always, always thought you deserved so much love, just all the love in the fucking world, and I’ve tried to give you that in my own flawed ways.”

With a deep breath, Eliot scooted a little closer, close enough his knees brushed Quentin. “From the day I met you, the _moment_ I met you, I’ve been…just so fascinated with you. Captivated. You’re so kind, and gentle, and fierce at the same time. You’re brave, and bold, and…you _care_ so much, about just everything. And it makes you uncool by a certain standard—caring is always uncool, it’s the antithesis of cool—and I’ve tried so _hard_ to be cool that I quit admitting when I care years and years ago. I’ve been catty and petty and witty instead of humane. And you…”

Sighing, Eliot reached out to touch Quentin’s cheek with the tips of his fingers, holding eye contact. “You’re the most humane person I’ve ever known. You bring out the very best in me, Q. You make me a better person. And I just want to be with you forever. I know you…”

A heavy breath. “I know you need romance, and commitment, and you _deserve_ those things, and because I want to be with you forever, I want to _give_ you those things. I want to take care of you. I want you to have what you need.”

Eliot seemed a little shaky, a little overwhelmed, and Quentin understood that because he was too.

With a look of steely determination, Eliot pressed on. “Watching Kady with Julia, I just thought… I want that. I want to marry my best friend. I want to take what we have, this…perfect communion of disparate souls, and I want to make it permanent, and solid, and protect it from the passage of time and the whims of fate as best I can. It scares me because it’s _so big_ , Q. This love is _so big_ , and I’m just this… I’m just this dumb little mortal who fucks up huge, and it seems inevitable I ruin everything I let myself actually care about, but…”

Exhaling in a big gust, Eliot said, “Quentin, this is worth taking a chance. This is worth looking uncool, or mainstream, or déclassé. This is worth _caring_. And I do. So much. I’m stupid in love with you, and I have been forever, and it just…never goes away, even on the worst days. And if you believe in me, if you think I can pull off being a husband, and a life partner, and… Then I’m asking you: Do me the enormous honor of agreeing to marry me?”

Quentin could barely breathe. His gaze on Eliot was foggy through tears, but he was pretty sure he didn’t see the ring anywhere, though Eliot had definitely asked. It was kind of sweet that Eliot was as nervous as Quentin usually was, and as flustered.

He thought he might well pass out, which made answering now crucial. Quentin nodded before his mouth could catch up. “Yes, Eliot. I think you’ll be the best husband to me. I don’t think you could to anyone else. That’s the law now. You made the rules. I’m enforcing them.”

Quentin winced at himself rambling and being a little silly. He wrung his hands and whispered, “So the ring?”

“Oh. Right. Um.” Eliot bit his lip and produced the ring, holding it between two fingertips and raising his brow until Quentin lifted his left hand and spread his fingers. Eliot took a deep, shaky breath and then slid the ring home. As it settled at the base of Quentin’s ring finger, natural as anything, Eliot let out a helpless little sigh and lifted Quentin’s hand to his lips.

Gazing at Quentin, Eliot kissed the ring and then the back of Quentin’s hand before lifting Quentin’s palm to his cheek and nestling against it. “My fiancé,” Eliot whispered, voice only a little louder than the distant drumbeats. “My fiancé Quentin.”

“I’m going to faint.” Quentin looked at the ring, barely believing it. His hand shook a little, and it felt like his face might well crack apart from grinning so hard. He knew this was going to happen coming in, and yet, somehow it hadn’t really hit home until this moment.

Quentin got to his knees so he could throw his arms around Eliot and pull him close. He didn’t realize he was squealing until Eliot shifted his head, probably having more than an earful. That was… Well, Eliot said he knew Quentin wasn’t cool.

He clutched his arms around Eliot’s neck and let out a little sob of happiness and then tried to keep quiet for a moment and just feel Eliot against him, breathing him in. “My fiancé Eliot. I love you. I love you so much, Eliot.”

Eliot embraced Quentin in return, hands splayed over Quentin’s naked back. They felt strong there, and right, and Eliot just held Quentin for a long time. It was so gentle, sensuous with so much skin contact, with the romance in the air, but tender, like even Eliot didn’t want to corrupt such a pure moment. It seemed to Quentin like the drums beating in the distance echoed his pounding heart, or maybe that was just Eliot’s thumping so powerfully against him he could feel it in his bones.

“I love you too, Q. With all my heart.” El kissed Quentin’s cheek, the corner of his mouth, chaste and precious. Then he straightened and looked down into Quentin’s eyes, his own gleaming with more emotion than Quentin might’ve imagined him capable of on first meeting. “This is the first time in a long time I’ve felt…certain of my future. Without you, there was just…this fog obscuring everything more than a few months off, and now… Knowing we’re going to be together makes me feel like I can face anything.”

“Really?” Quentin’s cheeks warmed. It was hard to imagine Eliot being in doubt. He was so good at covering up his insecurities most of the time, though Quentin was aware of some. Those moments of vulnerability were Quentin’s favorite because he felt trusted and necessary to Eliot’s life. “Even before, I’d face anything with you. Though now neither of us have to worry about our questionable taste in men. I’m so happy, Eliot. You make me happy.”

“Yeah?”

Eliot blinked a few times, hard and fast like he was refusing to cry, and then leaned in to tease his lips softly against Quentin’s. It started slow and almost meek, an invitation rather than a demand. Then, as Quentin responded, Eliot grew more aggressive, licking his way into Quentin’s mouth and moaning quietly, like he couldn’t help himself, like it was just _that_ good.

Quentin slid his fingers into Eliot’s thick, curly hair and massaged his neck as they kissed, tasting him and loving it. It was a beautiful day, and they were newly engaged and… well… it was Christmas, which was an increasingly absurd excuse for some of the lewd thoughts in Quentin’s mind.

“I’m all yours, El,” he whispered against his lips between kisses. “You did it. You were so brave. I love you.”

Quentin could feel Eliot preening, basking in Quentin’s praise, and he sounded a little smug when he said, “I love you too, Q.”

Then Eliot pulled away and reached under the platform on the far side. When he drew his hand up, he held a beautifully engraved scrollcase, wood covered in worked and gilded leather. It looked heavily enchanted, though Quentin couldn’t imagine what for.

Holding it out to Quentin, Eliot shrugged one shoulder. “This was going to explain everything if I didn’t find the courage and opportunity to talk to you sooner.” With a slightly sheepish look, Eliot added, “I was putting all my eggs in that metaphorical basket, honestly. I didn’t think I’d ever work up the gumption to just…”

He sighed, smiling. “But I did. You make me brave, Q.”

Quentin opened the case and carefully took out the vellum scroll inside. It was thick and supple, looking ancient but feeling brand new. As he unrolled it, he recognized Eliot’s distinctive cursive handwriting, all elegant swooping script like a Victorian gentleman’s, but what really drew his eye were the illustrations in all the margins done in colored ink. This was what old-fashioned illuminated manuscripts must have looked like, carefully wrought, professionally inscribed.

Eliot turned his back on Quentin and went to sit on the edge of the platform, legs dangling over the side like he couldn’t stand to watch Quentin read it. Delicately smoothing it out, fingertips reverent on the inked drawings of the two of them at different moments in their lives together, Quentin began to read.

_Dear Q,_

_This is the hardest thing I’ve ever written, and that’s even counting the graduate thesis I wrote for Brakebills while extravagantly high and tripping out over the way striking the keyboard produced letters on the monitor._

_By now you’ve gotten all the gifts I sent you. By now you have to have put together that whoever sent those gifts really loves you. Wants something with you. Wants to, maybe, be the last person you have something with, someone whose love lasts the rest of your life._

_I don’t actually know anything about love, except what I’ve learned from my friends. But I think I can do it. I think I’ve been doing it, for a long time, where you’re concerned. _

_I’m writing this in the headquarters of Free Trader Beowulf with Pouncy Silverkitten and Kady-soon-to-be-Fogg pretending not to watch me, and I feel so completely exposed. People know_ _now. They know how I feel, the lengths to which I will go, the desperation with which I will pursue your love._

_This is all feeling very real right now, maybe too real, but I’m going through with it because I’m in love with you and I have been for as long as I can remember. I don’t know when it happened, I don’t remember a specific moment, but it was somewhere between the moment I first saw you all awkward and precious and shaggy-haired and the moment you helped Margo carry my drunk ass back to my bedroom that night at the Physical Kids cottage. You fit into my life so perfectly, and I was just gazing at you, touching you, realizing I was so gone._

_So, you can see, it’s been a while. I love you, Q. I’m in love. It’s not going away; it’s not changing except to grow. And I want to be with you forever._

_If you can see a kernel of promise in me, an iota of worthiness, then I’m asking you to give me this chance, to look at me with knowing eyes and choose me deliberately. Don’t stumble into this. Don’t let it happen. Choose me, Quentin. Like I’m choosing you._

_Yours always,_

_El_

Quentin moved the vellum away quickly so he couldn’t cry on it. He didn’t want to possibly ruin it because he was overwhelmed with emotion. Since it was blurry through tears, Quentin rolled it up quickly and put it away, but he knew it would be something he treasured and would go back to fondly for the rest of his life.

He’d frame it, but he knew that would be too much for Eliot, so Quentin also knew this would be a precious thing he hid and read furtively. Then, even if Eliot caught him reading it, it would be with fondness and he’d know how much it touched Quentin. This was how their relationship was.

Quentin clutched the container to his chest, mind rolling over the phrases that meant the most like a song with a treasured chorus.

He almost felt bad about spoiling Eliot’s surprise with his determination to know. But now the man who sat in an office writing this letter, hopeful that Quentin would read it and choose him, had his answer.

Whether the presents had been from Eliot or not, Quentin _chose_ Eliot without a doubt in his mind that Eliot was who he wanted.

That caused a fresh rain of tears. Quentin rubbed them from his cheeks with his fist, feeling distinctly unmanly and like kind of a mess. He had to pull himself together before joining Eliot. So he took a couple of minutes to focus on his breathing and then he crawled over to Eliot and wrapped around him from behind.

“I do choose you, Eliot. I love you so much.”

“I know,” Eliot replied, glib in the way that he was when he was feeling too much to be earnest. “I’m fabulous.”

He turned his head to kiss Quentin slowly and lifted his hands to grip Quentin’s where they overlapped on his chest. “I love you too. Enough to make a big dramatic ordeal out of it, obviously.” He twisted Quentin’s ring on his finger, toying with it, and looked into his eyes. “Forever’s not long enough, but it’ll have to do, I suppose. For the record, though, I’ll love you longer than that.”

“A very dramatic ordeal. I don’t think anyone else would have ever done such a thing. Which I know for a fact since I interrogated all other likely suspects.” Quentin sniffled and tried to keep it together that Eliot really and truly loved him and only him. “The record will reflect that.”

Quentin took a deep and stuttering breath. “I’m all yours for that time and beyond, Eliot. We can write and illustrate our books and travel the world. Make love in every city. I’ve known you for so long, but I didn’t know you had such a romantic heart. Now I know, and we’re going to have so many beautiful adventures.”

Looking touched, Eliot kissed Quentin again, one hand holding Quentin’s against his chest, finger pressed against Quentin’s engagement ring, and the other hand carded through Quentin’s hair and curved around his nape, holding him in place as Eliot’s tongue caressed Quentin’s as steady and inevitable as the tide. Quentin returned the kiss slowly, lovingly, wanting to welcome El in. Nothing else mattered but the love flowing between them.

As they kissed, Eliot urged Quentin toward the pillows, smiling against his mouth like nothing could make him happier, like this was everything he needed and wanted in the world. His hand cradled Quentin’s elbow as Quentin caressed Eliot’s face, cushioning it from the pallet as they went down. They laughed into each other’s mouths as they subsided against the pillows, just two men madly in love and promising forever.

They jostled each other, too excited to coordinate, and Eliot accidentally toppled a pillow from the pallet to the ground, and they both laughed again and whispered secret _I love you_ s into every bit of skin they could reach. Eliot was hard against Quentin’s thigh, his tiny festival costume doing nothing to restrain the beast, and Quentin was grateful he’d already unzipped his too-tight trousers because he’d been in a similar state this whole time.

With a startling thud, something struck Eliot in the head and fell onto Quentin. Eliot blinked as Quentin retrieved the offending object: A plump, fuzzy peach knocked from the branches overhead.

“Motherfucker.” Eliot stared at it, offended, and then leaned in to take a savage bite out of it where Quentin held it in his hand. The juice ran down to Quentin’s wrist, and Eliot chased it with his tongue, gaze heavy on Quentin’s as he licked it away.

Then they were kissing again, and Quentin tasted the ripe sweetness of Eliot’s mouth, and everything came into perfect focus. This was his life now. This was his future. This wild romantic with his wicked mouth and his hidden heart, this best friend somehow transformed into the perfect lover, this someday husband.

Somewhere across the orchard, twelve drummers drummed, but here, high in their peach tree, Quentin and Eliot made Christmas merry on their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for joining us for this sappy bit of holiday cheer, and thanks so much again to Nog for the beautiful art! We adore it, and we encourage y'all to go show it some love. Nog's been an absolute delight to work with, and the real Christmas magic is the friends you make along the way, yadda yadda. 
> 
> Reminder to all that Rizcriz came up with the idea behind MHHE and invested so much hard work over the months between inception and completion. Thanks again, Riz. 
> 
> Nicole, you are an absolute wonder. Thank you again for your help whipping this story into shape. We appreciate you. ♥
> 
> Please comment and kudos if you enjoyed the story! This has been such a labor of love, and it's our gift to the Magicians fandom for the holidays. However you celebrate, we wish you peace, joy, and love.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for Twelve Days of Queliot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21688408) by [anthemofourlives](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anthemofourlives/pseuds/anthemofourlives)




End file.
